


From Loki With Love

by TeamDamon



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Also cheesecake, Bearded Steve Rogers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky is an escort with a day job, F/M, FBI AU, It's Steve's birthday, M/M, Multi, OCs - Freeform, Steve is a top FBI agent, Stucky - Freeform, Top Steve Rogers, and lots of sex, and tattoos, duh - Freeform, escort AU, loki is a little shit, what could possibly go wrong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 16:16:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13978857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamDamon/pseuds/TeamDamon
Summary: "Loki wanted to wish you a happy birthday and make sure it would be one you'd never forget it. So he sent you me."Steve's mouth fell open slowly, fraction by fraction, brows set so hard on his face it was equally frightening and adorable. "Loki did what?"Finally, the man rolled his eyes and sagged his broad shoulders a little, giving up the act for a moment. "Dude. I'm an escort. And I'm your birthday present from your pal Loki."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, hope you enjoy and will let me know what you guys think! Apparently I'm Stucky trash now so please enjoy my latest offering :)

The sound of the doorbell ringing made Steve freeze on his couch, chopsticks halfway to his mouth and eyes darting away from the TV mounted on the wall. He furrowed his brows and checked the time on his watch - 7:30 pm - and felt his knee-jerk suspicion grow deeper when a knock on the door followed the doorbell.

He wasn't expecting anyone. A delivery man, maybe, but this was well past standard delivery hours. Setting his box of takeout down on his coffee table and mentally preparing for all possibilities of who just might be on the other side of the door, he stood up and quickly strode towards it. His gun wasn't currently on his person but he didn't especially need it, particularly, so it didn't give him any reason for pause as he unlocked the deadbolt and then reached for the doorknob.

Maybe it was a neighbor. Could be a solicitor, possibly. Or one of his friends, he supposed, but he couldn't think of a single one who wasn't busy tonight. It was kind of why he was sitting at home alone eating Chinese food, after all.

He opened the door and was met with the surprising sight of not a solicitor or a neighbor or even an ex-prisoner with a grudge but rather an impossibly attractive stranger. Tall, dark haired and blue-eyed, dressed in dark jeans and a dark shirt and a black leather jacket, the man blinked at him as if in surprise of his own before half-stuttering, "Steve? Rogers?"

Steve furrowed his brows at the oddly nervous way the question was posed. "Who are you?"

The man looked him over, subtlety lost on him as his eyes lingered on Steve's somewhat new beard he was sporting, and to Steve's surprise he grinned and chuckled with all seeming nervousness gone, "Well _damn_. I wasn't prepared."

Steve's expression grew almost comically confused. " _What_?"

He simply shook his head, hands shoving into the pockets of his jeans as he bit his lip very briefly before replying flirtatiously, "Loki wanted to wish you a happy birthday and make sure it would be one you'd never forget it. So he sent you me."

Steve's mouth fell open slowly, fraction by fraction, brows set so hard on his face it was equally frightening and adorable. "Loki did _what_?"

Finally, the man rolled his eyes and sagged his broad shoulders a little, giving up the act for a moment. " _Dude_. I'm an escort. And I'm your birthday present from your pal Loki."

Steve's brows promptly flew so far up his forehead they nearly evacuated his face altogether. "You're an - are you serious?"

The grin returned, this man apparently finding Steve's reactions hilarious. "As a heart attack."

... He was gonna kill Loki. Loki was a dead man walking, wherever he was. He sent Steve an escort - a _male escort_ \- as his damn birthday present. It was so wrong on so many levels and he knew that Loki knew it, which made it all the more infuriating.

But the escort in question was just standing there, still wearing a little smile and appearing as cool as a cucumber while Steve panicked inside. "You gonna invite me in, Steve?"

Being addressed so casually like that by this stranger was enough to make Steve snap out of his daze and reply quickly, "No. You should go home."

The man's face fell, and Steve moved to quickly close the door so that he could go back to his couch and pretend that none of this had ever happened. But the escort quickly threw his arm between the door and the wall and exclaimed, "Wait! Wait, wait, please -"

"Listen," Steve said quietly, opening the door a little wider and shaking his head, "he wasted your time and I'm sorry." He then dropped his voice to a slightly scandalized whisper and muttered, "I'd never pay for sex, so -"

"Let me stop you right there," the man interrupted most definitely above a whisper, seriousness replacing the playful expression he'd worn when Steve had first opened the door. "I'm an escort. That means companionship, not necessarily sex. I'm here to show you a good time. Whatever that ultimately means for you - your choice."

Steve hesitated, quickly realizing that this conversation was not one that either of them needed to have in the hallway. He stepped aside and hurriedly motioned for the man to enter, and after he did Steve shut the door and started mumbling, "I'm gonna kill him. Gonna kill him. _Son of a bitch_ I'm gonna kill him."

The man stood there, looking remarkably calm and nonplussed as he alternated between curious peeks around the apartment and looking at Steve with mild concern. Steve locked his door again - for reasons he couldn't really pinpoint - and then raked a hand through his hair before turning back to the escort in question.

The man smiled and held out a friendly hand. "So... I'm James."

Steve looked down at his hand and then back up, not meaning to be rude but finding himself too shook to participate in social niceties. "What did Loki tell you about me?"

James sighed and withdrew his hand, putting back in his pocket. "Well, he wasn't lying when he said you're wound up way too tight and need to let off some steam, obviously."

Steve glared at him, at this stranger who had no qualms calling him out. What a jerk. "He had no business sending you here. I was expecting a... a gift certificate to a spa or something."

Now it was the escort's turn to look confused. "A spa?"

"He told me he was sending me a birthday present," Steve muttered. "He said it was something relaxing. I was expecting a spa day or a... massage chair or something. Not a person."

James grinned again, apparently finding that quite funny. "Well, for what it's worth," he replied, getting that effortlessly flirtatious look about him again, "I'm _way_ fucking better than a spa."

Steve stared at him blankly. He was in trouble. His heart was racing and he was beyond nervous, also furious with Loki and overall simply bewildered and confused, but there was one thing he knew for sure. "Yeah. I can't do this."

James' face fell yet again. "But -"

Steve simply shook his head, gesturing to the door. "I can't. Just go."

James furrowed his brows, now equally confused as he asked, "Are you straight? Is that the problem? 'Cause Loki said -"

"I don't know, I just -"

"You _don't know?_!"

" _Yes_ , I know," Steve gritted out, eyes closed angrily and hands gesturing weirdly before he forced them to drop back to his sides. "Kind of. But that's not the point."

James eyed him and drew a deep breath as if to say _oh boy_. "Look, man, why don't you just calm down and breathe and... let me take you to get a drink."

Steve blinked at him. "What?"

"Take you. To a bar. For drinks," James explained as if to a small child, but with an amused tone to his voice that kept it from being insulting. "It's your birthday, right? So we can get you cake, too. I know a place."

Steve hesitated, unsure of even how to answer that. He was about to refuse and physically shove the guy out the door but then James held up his hands in a universally non-threatening way and added, "Like I said, s'just companionship, all right? Doesn't have to be anything else. But you're all alone on your birthday with apparently just takeout for company," he waved a hand towards the couch and coffee table, "and that's fucking sad. Nobody should have to spend their birthday alone."

Feeling a little embarrassed at that, Steve scratched at the back of his neck and shrugged. "Everyone was busy. It's fine. Some things can't be helped."

James nodded. "Some things can. So what do you say? Drinks, cake, and someone to talk to."

Steve took a deep breath, feeling crazy for even considering this for so very many reasons. But the truth was, while he fully understood why he was alone on his birthday and didn't hold it against anyone because they all really were legitimately caught up in other things, he couldn't pretend he wasn't lonely and a little disappointed. He felt silly about it, being as old as he was and birthdays hardly being the big days he used to anticipate as a kid, but it was what it was. And he didn't want to be alone.

"All right," he finally relented, bringing a smile to the escort's face. "Fine."

He was still gonna kill Loki, though.

* * *

 

"So," James said, leaning back on his stool with a glass of whiskey and looking quite pleased with himself, "glad you gave in?"

Steve feigned a sigh, lips slightly curling into a smile as he looked at the enormous piece of New York cheesecake sitting in front of him, next to his own glass of whiskey on top of the bar. The cheesecake came from a place he'd never tried before but James swore by, and he had insisted on stopping there on the way to the bar. It looked every bit as good as the man claimed it was, and Steve had to admit... it was already a huge improvement in his night.

But he wasn't about to admit that. "We'll see," he replied, shooting James a look that made him roll his eyes.

"Jesus, you've got that hard to get thing down," James noted. "Why don't you get started on that whiskey and loosen up a little?"

"Sorry," Steve shrugged, about to dig into the cake, "I'm still trying to process the fact that I'm sitting at a bar on my birthday with a..."

"... A what?" James asked with a grin and eyes that just dared him to call him something offensive.

But Steve would never do that, of course. Didn't even want to. He wasn't like that. "A stranger," he replied pointedly, a silent defense of himself.

"Ah. All right, well... let's change that then," James suggested, leaning one arm on the bar. "You already know my name. I was born in Indiana, grew up in Brooklyn. My favorite color's blue. Oh, and I'm a Pisces, if you're into that kinda thing. Now tell me about yourself, Steve Rogers."

Steve hesitated and ate the first bite of cake to delay his answer, pausing immediately after it hit his tongue because _holy hell_. "God that's good."

He didn't notice the way James watched him take the bite, which for his sanity was probably a good thing. "Told you it would be," James said, reluctantly looking away from Steve's mouth and picking his drink back up. "I'm waiting, by the way."

Remembering the question, Steve got another bite ready and said, "I'm from Brooklyn too. I'm curious, though - did Loki happen to mention to you what I do?"

"Yeah," James nodded. "Said you're a workaholic, married to the job kind of guy. I think he said something about security. Security guard? Private security? Something like that."

Steve chuckled and shook his head. Of course Loki would make it sound as simple and non threatening as that. "Yeah. Homeland security." James looked at him curiously, taking another drink, and Steve added, "I work for the FBI."

James promptly choked on his drink, nearly spitting it out but forcing it down harshly just at the last minute. Then he started coughing hard enough for the bartender, a pretty little woman with aqua hair, to notice and slide a glass of water in front of him. He ignored it though and instead looked at Steve with wide eyes and said in a struggling, cracking voice, "You're a fucking _Fed_?!"

Steve tried not to burst out laughing, nodding and replying, "Yeah. Federal agent."

" _What the fuck_ ," James half wailed, eyes genuinely fearful as he looked at Steve nothing short of pleadingly. "Please don't arrest me."

"If I was gonna arrest you I would have done it already," Steve shrugged. "So relax."

He didn't seem convinced, eyeing Steve cautiously and taking a drink of the water, bringing his full voice back. "What kind of agent are you? Like a desk job kind of thing or..."

Steve shook his head, giving him a fleeting glance. "It's classified. But no, I don't have a desk job."

"Fuck," James said with wide eyes. "Classified? Seriously? Are you some high level action movie kinda shit?"

Steve laughed at that characterization. "Well I could tell you, but...."

"Then you'd have to kill me," James nodded, running a hand through his hair a bit miserably and managing to mess it up on top. Somehow it only made it look even better. "Yeah. Okay. Well this is... _great_. Ex-military though, right?"

Steve nodded. "That easy to tell?"

James shrugged. "You get to know the look pretty well when you see it in the mirror every day."

Steve hadn't hadn't pegged the man as ex-military himself, but in his defense he was still quite thrown for a loop over everything in general. "How long?"

"Couple tours," James shrugged like it was nothing. "You?"

"Same," Steve nodded, turning back to his cake. "Don't feel like I ever quite got out though."

"I don't think any of us ever do," James replied quietly. "Not really."

Steve nodded again, downing another bite and then turning back to James. He wasn't quite sure how to ask the question on the tip of his tongue, but he was too curious to hold it back. "How did you..."

James stared at him for a moment and then guessed with a small grin, "How did I what... end up an escort?"

Steve flushed with embarrassment and waved a hand nervously. "You don't have to answer that, I just -"

"It's all right," James chuckled, finding the man kind of adorable when he got nervous. "And to answer your question, I only do this on the side. I've got a day job."

"Oh. That's good," Steve replied, instantly furrowing his brows at himself and hoping he wasn't coming off as offensive. "I'm sure you do well for yourself."

"Yeah, why's that?"

Steve glanced at him to find a bit of a saucy smirk on his face, and Steve felt like his ears were going to burn off his skull. "Just... I don't... you know, you're..."

"... Jesus," James grinned, sipping his drink. "You can just say it, you know. I know I'm hot. You're not the first to think so."

Steve sighed and dropped his head down, smiling with more embarrassment and wondering what the hell was wrong with him. But James didn't mind, patting him on the shoulder with one hand and signaling for another round of drinks with his other.

"So what's your next question?" James asked. "Cause I can tell you're full of 'em."

Steve took a calming breath and decided so long as James was keeping the door open, he'd walk through it. "How do you know Loki?"

"He's a friend of mine," James replied. "Met him the same way I met you."

Steve should have assumed as much, really, but he hadn't. "Oh. So you and him..."

"Yeah," Bucky nodded. "Funny story there, actually. He paid for a Friday night with me and ended up turning it into a three day weekend. Could have taken off the rest of the month with what he paid me."

"Wow," Steve marveled, genuinely interested but also still embarrassed and Jesus, Loki. "Do you only do men?" His eyes widened in horror and he quickly amended, "Service men. Serve men? _Oh my God_ , I'm sorry, I'm just -"

That made James burst into an honest to God giggle. It was somehow still a masculine sound, however, and he replied through his laughter, "It's okay. And no, not just men. I do everyone." He then grinned and laughed again, and this time Steve did too.

"Okay, good to know," Steve chuckled, unable to shake the damn blush in his cheeks. Give him a terrorist cell to take down and he didn't flinch, but strike up a conversation with an incredibly attractive male escort and he was useless, apparently.

"It's not what you're imagining though," James added. "I mean, sometimes it is. Sometimes I just show up to a hotel room and leave a couple hours later and that's that. Other times, client just wants to show me off at some fancy party and get a blow job in the car after. Then I've got one lady who puts a collar on me and has me act like her pet, and I mean the whole nine yards - feeding, bathing, grooming, cuddling. All of that and zero sex."

Steve's eyes widened. " _What_?"

James grinned and shrugged. "She's a nice lady. I don't mind it, either. It's pretty relaxing and she seems to use it as some kind of therapeutic thing."

"Wow," Steve replied, having never heard of anything like that before. "Doesn't sound so bad."

"Not at all." James took a drink and then added an afterthought, "You'd also be surprised how much money people will throw at me just to come over and jerk off in front of them."

It was the absolute worst moment Steve could have picked to take another bite of the cheesecake. It was turn to choke and he did so magnificently, making James crack up laughing and slide his glass of water to Steve. He drank the water quickly and somewhat miserably, in dismay of his complete and utter lack of chill but he couldn't help it because now all he could see in his mind was exactly what James had said and -

"Well, I guess Loki was right," James concluded, leaning an arm on the bar casually again. "You're definitely not straight."

Steve, mostly recovered now, side-eyed his companion and asked, "The hell did he say about me?"

".... I think if I tell you word for word you might need CPR, but... basically, that you're a giant ball of anxiety and repression and that you need to either fuck or be fucked before you die of 'terminal frustration'."

Steve rolled his eyes. "I'm not _that_ bad."

James raised a brow. "Really? Coulda fooled me."

Steve glared at him. "I'm _not_."

"When was the last time you had sex?" When Steve then paused and stared into the distance as he tried to recall, James them added, "If you have to think that hard to remember then it's been too long."

Steve shrugged dismissively, avoiding eye contact. "It's not a big deal. Really. It's not as important to me as it is to other people. I can live without it."

"I respect that," James nodded. "Still though. Everybody's gotta de-stress somehow. What about dating? Do you date?"

Steve actually winced a little at that particular question. "Sometimes. Never works out."

"That bad?"

"Not bad, necessarily," Steve shook his head. "One girl I dated ended up becoming my best friend. I just... suck at relationships, I guess."

"Yeah, well... join the club," James joked. "But you can worry about that another night. I'm here to keep it light and keep it fun."

"Yeah? Is there a survey I fill out afterwards where I rate how light and fun you were?" Steve asked, a bit of his sass returning now that some of his embarrassment had worn off.

James pretended to consider that for a moment, bringing his drink to his lips and telling Steve with a glint of mischief in his eyes, "No, but I have my own ways of gauging customer satisfaction."

Steve looked away, trying to ignore the slight shiver that raced down his spine. "And here I thought you'd clam up once you figured out I'm FBI."

"I probably should," James sighed, wincing like he'd forgotten about that little tidbit up to that point. "I blame you, though."

Steve turned back to him. "Me?"

"Yeah. You got a trustworthy kinda face," James shrugged. "Makes me wanna spill all my secrets. Maybe you should be a therapist instead of a Fed."

Steve laughed humorlessly and shook his head. "Yeah, no. I'm not a fan of therapy."

"Why not? Bad experience?"

Steve nodded. "Just didn't work for me. I don't know."

He was playing with the fork now, poking at the remaining cheesecake as James watched and then replied after a beat, "Well, the thing with therapy is you get out what you put in. You have to open up and do it because you want to, not out of obligation or making your nagging mom happy, you know? Gotta click with the therapist, too. I tried like 3 before I found someone I didn't wanna punch in the face."

Steve looked at him, this man who seemed so incredibly at ease and secure with himself and nowhere near as generally lost as Steve felt whenever he was forced to stop working long enough to actually think about it, and God Steve wished it could be the same for him. "Sounds like it worked for you."

"It's... not really as simple as that," James pointed out. "S'a work in progress, you know? You don't just wake up one day shiny new and fixed and stop going, stop working on yourself."

Steve nodded. "Well, I'm glad it's helped you out."

"Might help you out too if you give it another shot," James replied with a good-natured smile. "But I'll leave it at that. Light and fun and all that."

"Yeah, you're doing a terrible job," Steve teased. "Do you have a supervisor I can complain to?"

James chuckled and shook his head, retorting, "So I take an interest in the overall well-being of my clients - sue me."

"I don't think that would go over particularly well in court," Steve shrugged. "So I'll let you off the hook this time."

"Very generous, Agent Steve," James joked, earning a playful narrow eye from Steve. Then he gestured to the cheesecake and asked, "You gonna finish that?"

Steve looked down at the huge half-eaten slice and sighed, "No, I don't think I can. It's amazing but if I finish it I have a feeling I'll regret it. Don't usually have dessert."

James then grabbed it and slid it over, picking up the fork and digging in himself as he asked, "Why not? Not a big sweet tooth?"

"No," Steve shook his head. "Just don't think about it much. Also doesn't really help the whole staying in shape thing."

"Hasn't hurt me yet," James replied cheekily, downing a bite. "You shouldn't deprive yourself. Life is short. Too short to not let yourself have what you want." He took another bite, lips sliding over the fork and maintaining eye contact until Steve looked away, another blush creeping up his cheeks.

"That might be a dangerous mindset to have."

James shrugged. "Satisfying one, though."

Steve looked at him again, daring to meet that heavy gaze of his head on, and he just _knew_ he was in trouble. He couldn't make sense of how he felt; on the one hand he felt remarkably comfortable talking to James, enjoying his wit and admiring his laid back but challenging nature. On the other hand, however, there was a nervous pit in his stomach that he couldn't shake no matter how hard he tried, and it only got worse the more James toyed with him and flirted both subtly and blatantly.

The truth was obvious, but that didn't make Steve any more apt to accept it. He knew what he wanted, beneath his self-imposed layers of doubt and anxiety. James knew it too, and that was why he knew he was doomed.

Steve reached for his drink, mostly untouched, and downed it in one go. If his suspicions as to where the night was headed was correct, he was gonna need it. Otherwise he had a popsicle's chance in hell of not losing his shit.

Conversation remained easy as Steve had a few more drinks, the first two not doing much but the third making him feel a little tingly in his fingers. James kept their talk light, asking Steve what he watched on Netflix and then gaping in horror when Steve said he didn't have Netflix, only basic cable. That kept James going for awhile, giving an impassioned lecture on the invaluable awesomeness of internet streaming as well as several series that Steve had never heard of but were apparently the best things since the dawn of motion pictures themselves. He found himself laughing more that night than he had in ages, still knee deep in that odd mixture of anxiety and comfort, thoroughly enjoying every twist and turn of the conversation and finding himself genuinely caught off guard when James suggested they get the check and head out.

"What time is it?" Steve asked, slightly flummoxed and feeling just the right side of tipsy.

"Midnight," James grinned. "Lose track of time?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Steve said, not wanting the night to end just yet. Apparently it showed on his face, judging by James' next response.

"Well, I'm not about to turn into a pumpkin if you aren't. Back to your place?"

Steve nodded alarmingly quickly. James didn't make a big deal out of it or comment one way or the other, instead simply paying the bill - Steve argued hard, aghast at the very idea, but James was equally stubborn and eventually the exasperated bartender just rolled her eyes and snatched his card from him - and then heading out into the warm summer night to hail a cab.

The ride back was mostly silent, mainly because Steve felt far less comfortable in the presence of the cab driver even though he knew it was kind of silly. But James didn't question him and he passed the time by texting, apparently, though Steve didn't try to spy to confirm. Whatever he was typing, however, he did it rather furiously at some points while remaining perfectly cool otherwise. Steve silently debated what he was saying and to whom, which only partially distracted him from his increasing anxiety over what might or might not happen once they got back to his place.

It wasn't that he didn't want it. He wanted it, he couldn't be bothered to pretend otherwise anymore. It was the principle of it all. James, nice and easy and charming as he was, was ultimately just doing a job. And intimacy for Steve - nonexistent as it was - was not something he could reduce to a transactional thing. He didn't look down on others for doing so, didn't judge James for his choice of side work, but for _himself_... he couldn't fathom using another human being like that.

It left him in quite the pickle. He didn't want to keep depriving himself but he couldn't just ignore his nature, either. His dilemma prompted him to do exactly nothing, paying the cab driver and heading back ip his apartment door with James in tow, brain fixed firmly on autopilot.

They walked inside and his feet and mouth continued to work well despite his mental stalemate. He asked James if he wanted a drink and offered him the couch while he fetched him one. James happily accepted and Steve went about his kitchen numbly, screaming internally but functioning perfectly well on the outside. He was tempted to drink more himself but he didn't want to get drunk, knowing that wouldn't do a damn thing to help his already tenuous judgment.

He arrived at the couch with bourbon for James, water for himself. He sat down a comfortable distance away and cracked a smile when James said with his drink in hand, "Such a good host you are."

"Haven't forgotten my manners," Steve shrugged. "Mostly."

"Yeah," James agreed. "You're so polite you're sitting here having a drink with me when I know drinks and sitting around are the absolute last things on your mind right now."

Steve barely suppressed a sigh. This guy didn't play around or hold back his observations. He was glad, though - somebody needed to steer the night in one direction or another.

"But that's fine," James added, sipping the drink. "We can sit here and chat. Talk about the weather, baseball, my sister's Etsy shop. Like I said, it's whatever you want."

And that was exactly why Steve couldn't bring himself to take what he wanted. He could tell this man to get on his knees right there and he'd do it without so much as blinking, and that was why Steve couldn't do it.

"Except... you're not talking," James went on. "You're staring into that glass of water like it's a magic 8 ball and you're waiting for your answer."

Steve couldn't help but smile a little at that. Had it indeed been a magic 8 ball, he had no doubt as to what the answer to his unspoken question would be. _Ask again later_. Couldn't catch a break with anything these days.

"... You religious, Steve?"

Steve looked at James in surprise, furrowing his brows. "Religious?"

"Yeah. Is that why you're freaking out? Fire and brimstone and all that?"

"Oh. No," Steve shook his head. "It's not that."

"Then what is it?" James asked softly. "Maybe I can help."

Steve drew a deep breath, his grip on the cold glass the only thing keeping him somewhat grounded. "It's... you're an escort."

It was the perfectly wrong thing to say. James' gently curious expression became flat instantly, a sort of disappointed realization dawning on his face as he looked away and muttered, "Well if you're that _disgusted_ -"

Steve's face went up in horrified flames. "No, no, no - _God_ , I swear, I didn't mean it like that."

James, on his way to getting to his feet, paused and shot Steve a skeptical look. "Then what _did_ you mean?"

"I mean I'm... dammit," he groaned, running a hand over his face and feeling like a complete idiot. "I feel guilty, for one. Like I'd be taking advantage of you."

Offended expression softening by a fraction, James eyed him with slight exasperation. "You wouldn't be. I'm here for whatever you want. That's my job."

"And that's the problem," Steve replied, waving a hand for emphasis. "I can't do that. I don't have casual sex. I never have. Everybody else does and they love it. But I can't. It's not... not me."

James understood now. All the previous anger gone from his features, he didn't hesitate to reply, "Then that's who you are and there's nothing wrong with that. You shouldn't compromise for anyone."

Steve nodded, staring into his water glass again and letting the truth slip out from his lips at last. "But you make me want to."

The confession hung in the air between them, punctuated by the silence that followed and Steve's odd relief in having finally admitted it out loud. He wasn't sure what he expected next, but it wasn't James huffing out a laugh and letting his head flop back against the couch while he muttered, "You are the most fucking exhausting person I've ever met."

Steve didn't take offense to that. He grinned instead, knowing full well how true it was. He would know - he'd been exhausting himself his entire life. "Sorry."

"Don't be," James replied, leaning forward and placing drink on the coffee table before plucking the water glass from Steve's hands and doing the same thing. He turned his eyes on Steve and added, "Don't apologize for who you are."

James, still in his leather jacket, draped an arm over the back of the couch behind Steve and came closer but not too close, keeping just enough distance between them to keep Steve at ease. "I've got an idea."

"What's that?" Steve asked, watching James lick his lips absently and feeling like his ears were gonna burn right off his head.

"You have no idea what to do with me," James pointed out. "And that's fine. I'm also assuming you've never been with a guy before."

Steve nodded, blush growing even deeper. "No, I haven't."

"Not even a kiss?"

Steve shook his head. "Not even a kiss."

"But you've thought about it," James deduced. "A lot. For a long time."

Steve fought the urge to squirm under questioning, wishing he wasn't so damn embarrassed when he knew there was zero reason to be. "I don't know."

James' voice dropped down low and dangerous. "Yeah you do. Probably just depends on your mood what you think about to get yourself going. I'm the same way. It's okay to like everyone, you know."

"I know," Steve replied, forcing himself to make eye contact. "That's not the problem."

James nodded, appearing thoughtful for a moment as he looked Steve over. "So just... try me out. See how you like me."

Steve's heart somersaulted in his chest, possibly all the way up to his throat, and he repeated weakly, "Try you out?"

"Doesn't have to go anywhere. Doesn't have to end in any kind of sex or anything like that. Just... dip your toes in the water, you know? If you don't like it, if you're not comfortable, you won't hurt my feelings. I'll get it. But you'll never know until you try."

_You'll never know until you try._

As it turned out, those words were exactly what Steve needed to hear. It took the burden off of his shoulders, took the indecision away and replaced with something simple, something that he understood. It wasn't all or nothing. He could just... give it a go. Try him on, see how he fit. Maybe he'd wanna put him back, but maybe he'd wanna keep him awhile. He'd never know until he tried.

"Okay," Steve agreed, quiet but resolute. He didn't doubt his choice, and James didn't question it.

"Good," James replied with a small, crooked grin. "Can I touch you?"

Steve's insides flip flopped in a way that almost made him let out an unintelligible noise, but he still managed to nod. James answered by placing a gentle, careful hand on his thigh, low enough to not be too much but high enough to display intent, and just that one touch had Steve's nerves on edge.

"I'd tell you to relax," James said with a wry grin, "but I don't think you can right now, can you?"

Steve shook his head. "No, probably not."

James smiled at him like he was adorable. "Can I kiss you, Steve?"

Steve either nodded or said yes, he genuinely had no idea which. Whatever he said or did, James smiled at him warmly and then began to lean in slowly, hand still on Steve's thigh and his other arm behind him. The closer he came the more Steve was able to catch his scent, leather and whiskey and bourbon and just the faintest touch of cologne, something dark and incredibly fitting, and it made his head start spinning faster than it already was as the distance between them shrank.

Steve closed his eyes just in time to miss the way James grinned almost fondly at him before closing his own. Then his hand crept up his thigh by just a half inch, grip fractionally tightening as he brushed his lips over Steve's so softly it took his breath away. He wasn't expecting anything so soft and so gentle, and it served only to send him into even deeper of a tail spin inside.

Then James did it again, pressing just a ghost of a kiss to Steve's willing lips, brushing the tip of his nose against Steve's feather lightly, and Steve was both floating on air and desperate to feel more. But James only teased him, treating him almost like he was breakable, and Steve chased his lips the third time that he drew away entirely too quickly. Their eyes opened and Steve found James looking quite pleased with himself, toying with him like that, and suddenly Steve's previously paralyzed hands came to life.

He reached out and grabbed James by the back of his neck and pulled him in, crashing their lips together in a real damn kiss that made him feel fireworks in his chest. James made a low, quiet noise of deep approval, hand leaving Steve's thigh to slid along his bearded jaw as he dropped the teasing act and kissed him back firm and eager. Steve was seeing stars, unable to remember the last time he'd felt like this and been this close to someone, touching them, kissing them, not alone the way that he always was. He felt their kiss throughout his entire body and was instantly, hopelessly hooked.

At the first tender, gentle swipe of James' tongue along his lower lip, a flash of heat raced down Steve's spine. Then James did it again and this time Steve met him halfway, the light brush of their tongues enough to make him groan deeply and feel himself harden fully in his jeans.

James pulled away after that, eyes dark and cheeks a little flushed as he met Steve's lust-addled gaze. His voice was low and damn near sinful as he asked, "Well, what do you think?"

"Come here," Steve demanded before his brain could even comprehend what he was saying, and James complied without hesitation. He climbed on to Steve's lap and then shed his jacket in front of him, tossing it on the empty side of the couch and then running his hands up Steve's shoulders. Steve's hands went to his hips out of instinct and James grinned at him, surely able to feel beneath him the effect he'd already had on Steve. But he didn't tease him about it, instead sliding both hands into his soft hair and kissing him again, long and hot.

It was so much better than anything Steve had ever imagined. Different from kissing and touching a woman in some ways and yet the same in others, all of it intoxicating and leaving him wanting more with every kiss and every measured, deliberate roll of James' hips against his own. He was so hungry, so deprived and on edge already that he knew he could come just like that and breathtakingly quickly if James kept it up. He knew what he was doing, knew it damn well, and Steve turned off his brain and happily gave himself over to the new experience.

James was kissing under his ear, nipping and licking and making a mess out of him as he murmured seductively, "What do you want me to do? You've got me all night."

And just like that, at those seemingly harmless, sweet words, Steve's brain came back to life with a roar and hit the brakes before he had a chance to stop it.

He had him all night. Because Loki had paid him. He was doing a job. None of it was real, no matter how well James played the part. It was one-sided by definition, artificial, pleasurable but empty.

James could feel the switch when it happened. He drew away from Steve's neck and blinked at him, at the sudden conflict and doubt mixed with desire so strong that it was painful etched on his face. "What? What's wrong?"

Steve hated himself for saying his next words out loud, but he couldn't help it. "I don't think I can do this."

"Why not?" James asked, thoroughly confused at the sudden left turn. He then blinked slowly and added quietly, "Did I do something wrong or -"

"No, _God_ , no," Steve insisted, shaking his head. "No, trust me. It's just... I can't..."

"Can't what?" James pressed gently, genuinely just not understanding what could possibly be the issue.

Steve sighed and closed his eyes, trying to string together a set of words to explain what the hell was stopping him from having a good time. "You're being paid for this. You'd do whatever I ask you to do and I'd have no idea what you actually like or want to do, or even if you actually want to do anything in the first place. It's selfish on my part and I'm not... I don't like that. I don't wanna just use you."

James stared at him for a moment, still on his lap and hands still on his shoulders. He tilted his head slightly, furrowed his brows and said slowly, "You're afraid... I'm... faking it?"

Steve blinked back at him, surprised that he found that surprising. "I'm sure you sleep with people all the time that you don't really want to."

James' stare became flat. "Steve, have you looked in a mirror lately?"

Steve wasn't quite sure how to answer that. He wasn't an idiot and he knew plenty of folks considered him attractive, but that meant nothing as far as James as an individual with unique preferences. "But -"

"Oh, _fucking hell,_ " James rolled his eyes, leaning over and making Steve think he was gonna roll off of his lap and bolt to save himself any further headache. But instead he reached over and grabbed his jacket, rummaged through the pockets and then found his phone. He then straightened up and unlocked it, pushed something and then showed it to Steve. It was his Paypal app. "Look. See that? I'm gonna refund Loki his fucking money."

He turned the phone back around and starting tapping, and Steve's eyes widened in slight horror. "What? _No_! You don't have to - that's not what I meant -"

James merely shook his head and kept jabbing at the screen with his thumb. "It's already done. There. See?" He flipped it around again and Steve's eyes widened even further when he saw the refunded amount. James was not cheap. Then he locked the phone and threw it back towards his jacket. "Now I'm not an escort. I'm just a guy you met through a mutual friend. We went out, had some drinks, and now we're back at your place and I'm sitting on your lap because I want to, not 'cause I'm getting fucking paid to."

Steve suddenly couldn't breathe. What James had just done was so incredibly hot in such an unexpected way and he didn't know what to do with himself, what to say or how to proceed, but luckily James had it covered. He seemed to have a knack for that, knowing what to do while Steve flailed uselessly.

"Now that I got rid of the problem for you," James said, hands sliding up Steve's chest, "now can you tell me what you want?"

Steve had no idea where to start. He wanted everything, everything he could possibly fathom in that moment, and to spare himself the embarrassment of blurting something out he pulled James back in for another instantly hot, bruising kiss.

It was beautiful and perfect and yet not quite enough to stop Steve from pulling away abruptly and asking, "Are you gonna... can you afford what you just did? I don't wanna be the reason you're short rent or -"

"Steve," James sighed, "I promise you, I'll barely even notice the difference."

Steve raised an eyebrow. That was a hefty sum he'd returned. "Are you sure?"

"Do you wanna see my monthly budget and give me financial advice," James asked lowly, rolling his hips for emphasis in a way that made Steve clench his jaw, "or would you rather take me to your bed and fuck me?"

Something in Steve's brain short circuited, a thousand images each filthier than the next flashing before his eyes and the delicious reality of it all hitting him like lightning. His fingers, back on James' hips, flexed and he replied with a voice he barely recognized as his own, "You want that?"

He didn't ask it like he'd asked his previous questions, with that nervous edge that kept making James roll his eyes. Instead he asked it with a heat that made James grin and nod his head, leaning in and dragging his lips along Steve's jaw until he reached his ear. "Yeah, I fucking want that," he murmured, nipping at Steve's ear and making him shiver. "But I wanna take my time, too. I don't ever rush a virgin."

Steve groaned, James latching to an incredibly sensitive inch of skin just under his ear and sucking a mark into it, replying through gritted teeth, "I'm not a virgin."

"In a way you are," James pointed out, licking over the mark he had left. "And I don't take it lightly. Gotta make sure I make it good for you."

"I a-appreciate it," Steve hissed, James biting down and making him want to crawl out of his skin in the best way possible.

"So whaddya say," James said, pulling back and admiring the flushed mess that Steve already was. "Wanna take this to bed, see what happens? If you want I'll even let you sit back and watch me touch myself, since that seemed to really get your attention back at the bar."

Steve almost moaned out loud just at the very suggestion. Almost. This man was utterly filthy and he'd never been with anyone like him before.

"Up," he finally croaked. "Get up."

James obeyed instantly, rising to his feet too gracefully to be fair. Steve stumbled up next, gesturing vaguely towards his small hallway and muttering, "Down there, second door."

James took off without another word, and Steve almost tripped over his own feet in his haste to keep up. Both of them tall men with rather long legs, the trip to the bedroom lasted only seconds and before he knew it, they were inside his bedroom and Steve was flipping on the light while James eyed his bed.

"King," he noted with approval, reaching down for the hem of his own shirt and pulling it up. "Good."

Steve opened his mouth to mutter something about not enjoying his feet hanging off smaller beds when the sight of the man pulling off his shirt made him stop dead in his tracks and stare with parted lips and a suddenly dry throat. He stared and might have even gasped out loud, walking closer and murmuring, " _Oh my God_."

The entire left side of James' back was covered in an utterly gorgeous display of ink from his spine to his side and wrapping around his arm to create a sleeve there. A beautiful, lethal-looking white wolf stood in contrast to a dark forest beneath a nighttime sky on his back, the shading and details utterly impeccable and dazzling Steve's inner art connoisseur. Before he even had a chance to think first he was touching the ink, pressing his fingertips to soft skin and tracing some of the lines on his shoulder blade as he marveled, "This is amazing."

James watched him over his shoulder, murmuring, "Thanks. Took over a year to finish it all."

"Did it hurt?" Steve asked, fingers sliding down James' shoulder and over his arm.

"Sometimes. But I don't mind pain with a purpose."

 _Pain with a purpose_. Steve liked that and might have commented further had he not then leaned down and, on a sudden burst of desire and building courage, pressed a kiss where James' neck met his shoulder. Once he started he didn't wanna stop, hands sliding to James' waist and lips traveling slowly but increasingly open mouthed up his neck, James leaning his head to encourage him and reaching up to gently play with his beard as he did, scratching into it gently along his jaw.

"I like this," James said while Steve nibbled beneath his ear. "Wasn't expecting it. Loki said you were this clean cut pretty boy."

Steve chuckled. "He's been overseas too long. Hasn't seen me with it."

"He's missing out," James said, turning in Steve's arms and facing him again. "I mean, you're definitely pretty," he added, cupping Steve's face again and running his thumb over his lower lip. "But," he smirked, meeting Steve's gaze, "I don't think there's anything _clean_ about you."

Then he kissed Steve once more and it was all hunger and passion from the beginning, no more hesitation or testing the waters, just pure want and need and the satisfaction of being able to take it. They stood there and devoured each other, hands wandering and touching and in Steve's case growing bolder, roaming down and groping his ass and finding it felt as good as it looked in his jeans. James groaned in approval and bit at Steve's lower lip, an act that prompted Steve to growl and, surprising himself, push James down to his bed with a rough little shove.

James bounced slightly against the mattress and grinned up at Steve, clearly pleased with how he was emerging from his shell more and more as the night went on. He bit his lip as Steve reached down and peeled his shirt from his shoulders, revealing a body that made James grin wickedly and breathe, "God bless America."

Steve tossed him a good natured glare and then issued an order. "Take your pants off."

"Gettin' bossy on me," James murmured, making quick work of shedding his jeans while Steve did the same. Steve kept his underwear on - boxers as opposed to James' boxer briefs - so James did too, making sure to toe the line of Steve's comfort level.

"You don't seem to mind it," Steve noted, kneeling on the bed and climbing up the length of James' body. He was so long and broad, well-muscled and toned and all hardness underneath soft skin and he was incredibly different from anyone Steve had ever been on top of before. He didn't have to worry about crushing him, didn't have to be delicate, and it was an intoxicating change. They were evenly matched and it allowed Steve a new sense of freedom and ease as their lips collided again and sent his senses spiraling even further than before. There were so many new points of contact, so much skin against his own skin and heat rising between them, and he couldn't help but groan into James' mouth and thrust his hips down against his own, looking desperately for friction.

James encouraged him with a hum of approval, moving with him and pulling his hips closer as Steve dragged his mouth down, determined to get his lips and tongue on every inch of skin that he could. His beard left a trail of redness along James' neck, collarbone and chest and across his ribs as Steve lost himself to the task, awash in the realization that he really did like this, liked James and his masculine body, and that his attraction to men wasn't only for fantasy's sake or something he liked the idea of but not the execution of. No, he was definitely into it, and the confirmation of this left him suddenly dizzy and almost giddy with the overwhelming need for more.

That need struck at an opportune time, considering where Steve realized he was and what was only inches away from him. His mouth had trailed down firm, defined abs and now he was nearing an elastic waistband and the last barrier left on James' body. He looked up, eyes trailing over the dashes of red streaking over smooth skin like his own personal work of art, then to James' hooded, lust-filled blue eyes as he breathed heavy and murmured, "Enjoying yourself?"

"I'm about to," Steve replied before taking James by extremely pleasant surprise and pulling the boxer briefs down, taking one short but incredibly satisfying moment to stare at the hard length that sprang before his eyes, then wrapping his hand around it and stroking slowly without hesitation, without a shred of doubt. James sucked in a sharp breath and seemed to almost flail for a moment, gripping the sheets and only letting go once he'd regained enough of his wits, and Steve couldn't help but grin.

" _Fuck_ you warmed up to this fast," James exhaled harshly, watching Steve's hand move up and down leisurely, getting a feel for him.

That was the thing about Steve. When he was nervous about something or scared of it, he addressed that fear and uncertainty by diving headfirst into it, regardless of how crazy it made him appear to others. And when it came to something like this - something he very badly wanted and been curious about for ages despite how nervous it made him, his impulse to tackle it head on was tenfold.

And so, while James writhed gently under his grip and his legs twitched and shifted under the growing pleasure, Steve watched his eyes fall shut and decided to take a step further. He was high on it all, drunk on the sensations and newness, and he didn't think twice before leaning down and swiping his tongue across the tip. To say it caught James off guard was an understatement - he cursed satisfyingly loudly and his eyes popped open and shot to Steve as he jolted in surprise.

He said something, some kind of mixture of Steve's name and a curse and a moan, and the beautifully ragged noise made Steve really take the plunge, taking him slowly into his mouth and overloading both of their senses, just in entirely different ways. The very moment James was engulfed, sliding within an experienced but willing and eager mouth, Steve felt a tense hand slide in his hair and heard a strangled curse of, " _Motherfucker fucking... fuck._ "

That made Steve laugh, even with his mouth as full as it was, and it earned him a gentle but sharp tug of his hair. His little chuckle then became a moan and he refocused himself, drawing back and opening his eyes to meet the other man's as he let his tongue slide out and taste him.

"That shy, blushing shit's just an act, isn't it?" James guessed, chest heaving as Steve teased him, not really meaning to but trying to take his time and get a feel for what James liked. Steve shook his head, telltale blush rising on his cheeks just before he sucked him back into his mouth, deeper this time as James groaned, "Could have fucking fooled me."

Steve then lost track of time, losing himself to the act and focusing all of himself upon on and on making it good for James, and by all indications, he seemed to be doing a good job. James was a responsive lover, generous with his noises of approval and gentle with what little guidance he gave Steve. He slowed him down a few times, tugging his hair to do so and keeping his eyes on him through most of it, and Steve liked the way that his gaze felt. It was only when he relaxed enough to take in almost all of him that James made him stop entirely, tugging far more harshly and pulling him off.

Steve looked up at him, eyes a little watery and cheeks flushed and lips swollen and shining, and he wasn't sure exactly what the hell happened next but whatever it was, it was fast and dizzying and within seconds he was fully naked and on his back underneath another man for the first time in his life. 

"You trying to fucking kill me, Steve?" James asked, not bothering to keep his weight off of him since he knew he could take it. Steve happened to like the feeling, hands drawn to his wonderfully broad back as James added before he could answer, "'Cause you are."

Steve tried to mutter an apology but James kissed him and cut him off, nudging Steve's legs further apart with his knee and then rocking down against him, making Steve moan helplessly into his mouth and hold on to him harder. As James built a rhythm Steve pushed back against every thrust of his hips, chasing the friction hungrily and wanting, needing more, itching to flip them and get back on top and take control but also enjoying being underneath him and having to follow his lead. He simply wanted damn near anything and would happily accept exactly that, so long as James was enjoying himself too. And _God_ he was.

Steve didn't have any doubts as to the mutual attraction between them anymore, and not just because of the returned payment. It was as real as real could get, and he could see it on James' face and hear it in his low, rough groans and feel it in his increasingly sloppy, hot kisses. They were moving together and chasing every spark of pleasure and Steve knew he wasn't gonna last much longer but he wanted to, he desperately didn't want the night to end, but he couldn't bring himself to hit the brakes either.

James felt differently, however, breaking their kiss and breathlessly telling him, "I could come like this so fucking fast. You feel fucking amazing." Steve didn't say anything, _couldn't_ say anything back, and he didn't have to because James wasn't done yet. "I don't want to, though. Not ready to stop."

"Me either," Steve managed to choke out, groaning with frustration when James slowed down, almost stopping altogether.

"Yeah? What do you wanna do next?"

Steve stared up at him, blanking at the answer. He could think of many, many things, and the idea of choosing just one seemed impossible. "I..."

James slid his left hand into Steve's now-messy blond hair, giving a lazy but delicious thrust of his hips before asking him with dark, hooded eyes, "You wanna fuck me?"

The words sent a shockwave through Steve, nearly making him lose it right then and there and bring the moment to an amazingly embarrassing end. James had mentioned the same thing earlier but here, naked in bed together and a hair's breadth from snapping, the idea was much more real and compelling and _mouthwatering_.

"Shouldn't... shouldn't I be polite and... offer... instead?" Steve mindlessly stuttered, unsure of what he was even saying and why the hell he was saying it at all, but James seemed to think he was adorable.

"Yeah, you would, wouldn't you? Gentleman and all that," James said with a hint of affection, tracing a finger along Steve's cheekbone. "But lucky for you, I've got my heart real set on you fucking me till I can't walk straight, so... I'm all yours."

That was all Steve needed to drop all pretenses of anxiety and give himself over entirely to instinct. His grip on the other man tightened and he flipped them over effortlessly, James letting out an approving little giggle as his head hit the pillows. Steve, both hands holding himself up, asked him in all seriousness, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm fucking sure," he replied. "Unless you're getting cold feet on me."

Steve could have laughed at the very idea. "No," he all but growled before scrambling off of him enough to reach his bedside drawer, nearly toppling off the bed in his enthusiasm, and James had the gall to laugh at him. _The_ _jerk_.

When Steve returned, dropping the necessary items into the sheet next to them, James had shifted up higher into the bed a little bit and was sprawled out comfortably, right arm behind his head and the left...

Steve froze, half on top of James again and half at his side, entirely speechless and entire body flushing at the sight of him lying there and casually touching himself, as if to pass the time while he waited patiently to get fucked. He was completely at ease and unfairly gorgeous like that, fully aware of his own sex appeal and how to use it to achieve what he wanted, and Steve was enthralled, jealous, and utterly overcome with lust all at once.

"Told you I'd let you watch," James shrugged one shoulder, working his hand slowly over himself. "Gotta keep my word."

Steve briefly met his gaze before letting his eyes fall back down again, transfixed by what was taking place before him. It wasn't just the act itself but the way in which it was unfolding, the fact that it was just for him and him alone, a gift from this fascinating man in his bed.

He loved it. But he couldn't let it go on another minute.

"That's enough," Steve said quietly but firmly, and he didn't have to reach out and stop him. He ceased almost the second the words were out, hand falling to his side and eyes locking with Steve's. "Now I've never done this before, and I want it to be good for you. All of it. So.... help me?"

James grinned and relaxed against the bed, nodding and letting his legs sprawl further open as if in invitation. "Yeah, man. I've got you. It's not so different from what you've done with women."

"I know," Steve replied, moving between his legs and settling on top of him once more, faint blush touching his cheeks again. "Just... wanna be good."

"You're gonna be real good," James assured him, pulling him down for a kiss. "Can't wait."

Neither could Steve, so he kissed him again and reached blindly beside him to grab the bottle of lube, ignoring his sudden rush of nerves. James had nothing less than full confidence in him for some reason and it worked wonders for his own sense of ability, which was important for any new task.

But again, when Steve was unsure or anxious about a new situation... it only made him dive in all that much deeper. And as it turned out, James was right - it wasn't terribly different from what he had already experienced before. And he was the best teacher Steve could have asked for.

He started slow and James didn't rush him, letting him take his time and not teasing him at all for being overly cautious and careful not to hurt him, as if he really could with one lone finger. They kissed and breathed together through the readying process and Steve's nerves began to fall away once a moment or two had passed, feeling shivery and humming with the pleasant surprise that he still felt over doing this at all.

"Mm," James groaned when Steve was still only one finger deep, starting to rock down against his hand once he had adjusted to the intrusion. "More, you can give me more," he told Steve breathlessly, hand on the back of his neck as Steve rained kisses down his neck. "And deeper."

Steve lost his breath at the instructions and complied, adding a second finger and feeling the way James tensed beneath him but quickly relaxed and eased into it. He followed his instructions and went deeper, pleased when James groaned and rocked harder on his hand. "Good?"

"Mhm," James confirmed, eyes closed and lips parted, drops of sweat dotting his brow. "Very good."

" _Good_ ," Steve murmured, capturing his lips in a kiss that grew filthy almost instantly.

"Just a little more," James murmured against his lips. "You'll find it."

Steve didn't need to ask for clarification. He knew what he was looking for. He adjusted his angle and rotated his wrist, knowing it would be unmistakable when he got there. And he wasn't wrong.

The first time he brushed against the right spot, James all but shouted and nearly shot off the bed like a rocket. " _Fucking fuck_ ," he cursed, writhing and needy. "There. Do it again." Steve obeyed, adding a third finger when he knew he was ready and, after a few tries, finding the spot with ease. It reduced James to a puddle underneath him, whiny and sweaty and clutching him for dear life as he fucked down on his hand took everything he could until it wasn't enough anymore.

"I'm ready," he said breathlessly and needy, his own cheeks flushed and chest heaving. "I'm fucking ready."

"You sure?"

"Yes I'm fucking sure," James all but spat. "Fuck me, Steve."

Steve wouldn't dare keep him waiting. He pulled his hand away and shifted to get on his knees and get into position above him, still at least having the presence of mind to throw on a condom before he lost all ability to think. In the midst of that James asked, "Want me on my hands and knees?"

Steve's answer was immediate. "No," he replied instantly, settling between his legs and holding himself up with one hand planted next to the other man's head. "No. Wanna see your face."

James smiled at that, throwing a leg over Steve's hip as he reached down to line them up. "You like my face, Steve?"

Steve shot him a look. "I'm sure lots of people like your face."

"Yeah. But they're not usually so sweet about it," he replied with a lingering grin.

"Well they should be," Steve said. "Now be quiet."

James' eyes rolled shut and he half-whispered, half-groaned a breathless _yes sir_ as Steve slowly pushed forward and sunk inside of him.

Steve had always prided himself on his self control. He had the most of anyone he knew and kept himself in check in nearly all areas of life to the point where it was almost unhealthy, but sometimes even he came close to snapping and giving into baser, unwise inner urges. This was one of those times, but he hung on and just barely avoided losing his entire mind as he forced himself to not move while James adjusted to him.

Steve kissed and nibbled on his jaw to distract himself while he waited, waiting until James started squirming to kiss his lips and ask, "Ready?"

James nodded and Steve exhaled with relief, starting to move slowly with measured, small strokes, because anything more would have been his end. He kept his eyes closed and breathed against James' lips, brow furrowed and body tense as he worked them both up. James rocked with him and let his hands wander everywhere within in his reach, usually keeping one hand in Steve's hair or on the back of his neck, holding him close.

Once Steve felt a little more in control and a little less precarious, he let the pace quicken a bit and was rewarded with a low, hungry moan against his lips. "Good?" Steve asked, opening his eyes and looking down at James, vulnerable and beautiful and, for the night at least, all his.

He nodded, eyes closed and biting his lip briefly and tightening his grip on Steve's hair. "So good. Just need more."

"I'll give you more," Steve assured him, laying a short kiss at the corner of his mouth and finding it nearly impossible to stop gazing at him. He couldn't keep his thoughts to himself any longer, tracing his jawline and telling him quietly and lowly, in a voice that he thought barely sounded like his own, "You're gorgeous, James."

His eyes flew open and he smiled up at Steve at those words, though he also looked a bit confused for a moment. Then he blinked twice and shook his head, replying, "Bucky. Call me Bucky."

Steve hesitated, rhythm slowing as he furrowed his brows and repeated, "Bucky?"

"That's my name," he explained breathlessly. "I mean, James is too, it's my first name. But nobody calls me that. Just use it for business. But you're not business."

Oh. Steve understood now. That made sense. He couldn't help but grin a little bit - _damn right he wasn't just business_ \- leaning down to kiss him and murmuring, "All right, Bucky." The name, slightly quirky and uncommon as it was, suited him somehow and felt much more natural, surprisingly, rolling off Steve's tongue.

James - _no_ , Bucky - grinned into the kiss and held him closer, tighter, and Steve began to lose his motivation to hold himself back. Bucky had both legs wrapped around him now, using him to rock him down harder, encouraging Steve to just take him, but Steve knew once he started... _God_ it was gonna be over fast. But he wasn't finished yet. He wanted to make Bucky shout again, so he started shifting their position and angle a bit here and there, moving one leg up higher, holding Bucky up more with a hand on the small of his back, determined to find the right position to annihilate him.

And once he did, Bucky let him know by shuddering around him and shouting again just like Steve wanted, curling around him tighter and chasing it with every nerve and muscle in his body. It snapped what was left of Steve's resolve and he finally gave in, throwing caution to the wind and fucking him like he'd wanted to for hours, fast and hard and exactly the way Bucky needed - the way they both needed.

"Steve," Bucky gasped helplessly, body flushed and overheating and red even without the aid of Steve's beard dragging all over it, " _fuck_ I'm gonna -"

"Not yet," Steve admonished, voice trembling slightly. "Don't you dare."

Bucky whined with his eyes closed, panting and writhing and biting down on Steve's shoulder in an effort to contain himself. Steve moaned at the sting of pain, relishing it before yanking Bucky's head back down to the pillow by his hair and all but commanding, "Look at me, Bucky."

He opened his eyes immediately, nearly black with lust and need as they met Steve's, wordless pleas begging from within their depths. "You wanna come?" Steve asked, watching Bucky's eyes nearly roll in the back of his head immediately.

" _God, please, Steve,_ " he begged shamelessly, no qualms and zero hesitation. "I need it so bad."

"Yeah?" Steve teased, lips moving of their own accord now, words flying out with zero filter or thought of his own, everything now only need and instinct and filth. "You like this? You like me fucking you?"

"I fucking love it," Bucky replied, short nails digging into Steve's back while his other hand fisted his hair in desperation. "You're so _good_ , Steve. Fucking _natural_."

Steve grinned, flushing with pride and something else, too. He gazed down at Bucky and couldn't help but tell him, "You're so _fucking_ beautiful."

Bucky gave him that dreamy, almost silly smile in response, flushing even harder beneath him, and Steve couldn't delay him any longer. He cradled Bucky's face and gave him a long, filthy kiss before murmuring against his lips, "Go on, Bucky. Come for me."

It was an amazing thing, how quickly Bucky obeyed and proved how hard he had worked to hold out, following Steve's orders. He arched beneath him and let out a cry that Steve would remember forever, spilling untouched between them and setting Steve off himself in a white hot flash behind his eyes. He felt it through his entire body from head to toe, inside and out, in a way that he couldn't remember feeling before. It was unlike anything else, beautiful and perfect and long enough to make him lose all sense of time and logic as he collapsed in a heap on top of his lover.

Neither of them had any will to move or think or otherwise return to reality for quite awhile after, too lost in the pleasant haze and wanting to savor it as long as they could. Steve's head was on Bucky's tattooed shoulder, Bucky's arms thrown loosely around him and legs limp against the bed, the sound of breathing the only noise to be heard in the entire apartment.

Steve wished he could stay there like that and drift off, fall asleep and not move until the sun came up, but he'd never been able to do that with a lover. He cared too much to let someone else fall asleep in a mess - and this was a whole other level of mess than he'd ever experienced - and also wake up with sore limbs or a strained neck from passing out in a haphazard position. And so, though it was the last thing he wanted to do, eventually he slipped out of Bucky's body and extricated himself from his arms, looking down and grinning at the sated, instantly sleepy man in his bed.

He gave him a small little kiss on the lips and murmured, "I'll be right back." Bucky only groaned slightly in reply, not bothering to open his eyes, and Steve couldn't help but grin even more. Knowing that he'd fucked the man into such a state was a high he'd be riding for a long time, he was sure of it.

He wasn't gone for long. Within just a few moments he was back in bed next to Bucky, cleaning him up gently and wordlessly, at least until he glanced up and caught the way that Bucky was watching him. "What?"

Bucky, grinning lazily, shook his head. "Nothing."

Steve eyed him skeptically, tossing aside the small towel in his hand so he could run his fingers along Bucky's abs. "You're thinking _something_."

"I'm thinking a lot of things," Bucky teased. "Mostly that you're even hotter when you're not so wound up and... tense. You look good relaxed."

"Well thanks," Steve smiled, still absently tracing lines along his torso. "You too."

Bucky smiled. "So... what do you think? Was it everything you thought it would be? Being with a man?"

Steve shook his head, moving to lay down next to him, head propped on his hand while the other remained on Bucky's body. "Better."

Bucky grinned with pride. "I'd make a joke about another satisfied customer, but..."

"I still can't believe you did that," Steve muttered. "Gonna feel guilty about that for awhile."

Bucky rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Don't. Seriously. I won't even miss it."

Steve raised his eyesbrows in disbelief. "You're that well off?"

Bucky gave a lazy shrug. "I'm saving up. So I don't consider myself well off."

"Buying a house?" Steve mused, still unable to get his hands away from him.

"New studio," Bucky replied.

"Studio?" Steve repeated, curious.

"For my shop," Bucky replied, purposefully staying vague for the sake of amusement, which he didn't bother to hide.

"What kind of shop?" Steve pressed, grinning back at him.

Bucky chuckled like he wanted to keep him guessing but gave in only because he found him so adorable. "I'm a tattoo artist, Steve."

... Well now _that_ made sense. "Oh," Steve replied, fingers briefly stilling in the center of his chest. "Wow. You stay busy, huh?"

"Always," Bucky grinned back. "Always got someone to work on."

Steve didn't miss the double meaning there. "And Loki called _me_ a workaholic."

"It's not so bad when you enjoy your job," Bucky shrugged.

"No it's not," Steve agreed. And he did enjoy his work. He was making a difference in the world, even if nobody knew it. Nobody knowing was the point, after all. He helped keep the people safe, even when safety was just ignorance of danger.

"But everybody needs a break every once in awhile," Bucky said, reaching out and brushing his the backs of his fingertips against Steve's beard. "Right?"

Steve didn't reply. He didn't have to. Their eyes met and did all the talking for him, and the next thing he knew he was leaning in and Bucky was pulling him closer and their lips met once again, soft and sweet with that addictive undercurrent of heat. It was effortless, beautifully so, and Steve sank right into it without hesitation.

They kissed the moments away, unhurried and sweet, hands moving and running over now-familiar skin, no frantic need there to rush them. Steve loved it and didn't want it to end, didn't wanna fall asleep and miss his chance to have more of this man while he still had him in his bed. Thankfully, the feeling was mutual.

"So," Bucky said, casually sliding on top of Steve, messy strands of hair tickling at his eyes, "you got anywhere to be tomorrow?"

Steve thought for a moment before replying, "You know, I haven't taken a single sick day since I took the job."

"Really?"

Steve nodded. "Maybe it's time to change that."

"That's a good plan," Bucky agreed, pressing a kiss to the base of his neck. "'Cause you're gonna need some downtime to recover once I'm done with you."

Steve grinned at him, relaxing beneath Bucky and letting his arms rest on the pillows next to his head, all but offering himself up to him to do whatever he pleased for the remainder of the night and quite possibly a sizable chunk of the next morning. And afternoon. Maybe even the evening, too.

"I'm counting on it."

* * *

 

Across the Atlantic ocean some hours later, a slightly hungover but somehow still flawless-looking Loki awoke in his bed amid a pile of attractive but misplaced limbs. He made a face and removed an arm from his middle and a calf from on top of his legs, the offending appendages belonging to the man and woman he'd entertained the night before. Lovely companions they'd been, but their bedsharing manners left much to be desired. But no matter - they'd be gone soon and he had a day to begin.

Which reminded him of his first order of business. Grinning to himself and reaching over to his nightstand, he grabbed his phone off of its charger and powered it on. He'd turned it off the previous evening but he had important matters to attend to now, specifically that of a certain pair of friends of his and their little night together.

As he waited for the phone to come on, he wondered if his plan had been as successful as he had anticipated or if perhaps things had gone awry. While his plans were always well thought out and well executed, he could not always count on others to be as reliable as he and as a result, some plans were more fruitful than others. Being a genius was quite a burden when so many others failed to recognize it.

And that was what made Steve Rogers so interesting. Initially Loki had mistaken him for being as bland as untoasted store-bought white bread but, upon becoming better acquainted with him, he found that this was most certainly not the case. He was not bland but instead rather repressed and self-controlled within an inch of his life, to the point where Loki had to wonder if the man had ever had legitimate fun or a decent orgasm ever in his life. But lucky for Steve, Loki was his friend now and would happily see to making both happen.

He would have done it himself quite enthusiastically and at the drop of a hat, but the man was too damn stubborn and just wouldn't agree to it. _It would be weird_ , Steve said. _I wouldn't want to jeopardize our partnership at work,_ he said.

 _Well, fine_. Loki would just do the job by proxy then. Enter his lovely escort friend James Barnes and Steve's 34th birthday, and another one of Loki's master plans was born.

Phone now officially back to life, there was only a few seconds that passed before he received a notification for no less than thirty six unread text messages. Brows inching up towards his hairline, Loki quickly swiped the screen to find each and every single one from Bucky,

The texts read like a story, and a damn good one at that. He started from the beginning and worked his way down, a mischievous grin on his face the entire time.

_This better not be a waste of my time. If he slams the door in my face I stg I'm charging you double._

_And I'm charging you triple if that pic you showed me ends up being from Google and this guy looks completely different_

Then, all of ten minutes later:

_Omg wtf I wasn't prepared_

_He looks nothing like his pic_

_The pic looked like a Sunday school teacher at a fucking bake sale but this guy is fucking huge and has the best fucking beard I've ever seen in my life fucking fuck me I hate you Loki_

Loki paused. A beard? On _Steve_? Steve Rogers?

The next message included a photo, taken clearly covertly at a poor angle of Steve sitting next to Bucky in a cab and sure enough. He had a beard and he looked utterly magnificent.

 _Jesus Christ_. Loki should have tried harder to get in his pants.

_He's got a stick up his ass though, the next message read. You weren't kidding about that._

_Anyway I'll leave you alone now fucker_

Then, about 15 minutes later:

_LOKI YOU MOTHERFUCKER I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU IN YOUR SLEEP_

_YOU'RE DEAD TO ME_

_YOU SET ME UP WITH A MOTHERFUCKING FED_

_If I go to jail I swear I'm gonna sing like a motherfucking bird and take you down with me. I know you're in the mob or some shit like that you fucking little bitch_

Loki laughed and rolled his eyes. He wasn't in he mob. He had mob connections. Big difference. He had connections to politicians and royalty as well - that didn't make him a world leader, did it?

_I cant fucking believe you. You've done a lot of stupid shit but this just takes the cake. Ass._

_I'm giving this guy five minutes and then I'm gonna go to the bathroom and find a window or air vent or something to escape from_

_He's hot but he's not worth going to prison for ten years hot_

_Nobody's that hot_

_Maybe he'll have mercy on me since I bought him cheesecake_

Then, about 30 minutes later:

_He seems cool. I don't think he's gonna arrest me. Seems lonely. I like him. Don't know if anythings gonna happen though, he's so nervous. We're headed back to his place now._

_Stop laughing cause I know you're fucking laughing moron_

Loki was indeed laughing. Ah, he knew Loki so well.

_Either way I hope you know you fucking owe me you fucker. I don't care what ends up happening, it's not cool that you didn't tell me what he is. You made him sound like a damn mall cop but he's actually like some big fucking deal in the motherfucking FBI????_

_You're such an asshole I hate you_

_And you're not even answering me prob cause you're having some gross fucking orgy over there in London_

_Fucker_

_Complete and utter assface_

_This is worse than that time you tricked me into being your date for that weird BDSM ball thing_

_I'll call you in the morning to yell at you some more_

_You dick_

But then, dated several hours later, there was a few more messages. The contents of those made Loki grin with delight.

.... _So I take it all back, except the stuff about what a fucking dickhead you are. You're still a dickhead._

_He's... he's cool though, Steve. I like him. You were right about us being a good fit._

_But I still hate you and I'm still yelling at you in the morning_

Loki laughed and quickly typed out a reply, figuring Bucky would see it whenever he woke up. It was still before dawn in New York.

_You're welcome, darling. I knew you'd like him. Happy to hear all went well. Look forward to hearing the details_

_And oh stop with the hate. You love me and you know it._

_And that ball was enormously fun. Our night back at my place even more so._

Loki then moved to set the phone back on the nightstand but to his surprise, the screen lit up with a text back from Bucky already.

_Fuck off cocksucker_

Loki furrowed his brows, still grinning and replied, _Still awake at this hour? My my you two crazy kids must be rather sore by now._

_And btw is that supposed to be an insult? How embarrassing for you considering yours is a cock I've sucked. Repeatedly._

Bucky didn't reply save for a single eye rolling emoji. Incredibly pleased with himself and equally pleased as to how things had turned out, Loki tossed his phone back down and smoothly slipped out of bed, getting to his feet and strolling happily naked towards the warm and inviting shower waiting for him in his bathroom. He already knew it - it was going to be a lovely, wonderful day.

He was a motherfucking genius. There had never been any doubt but now, even more so - _wow. What a motherfucking genius._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now instead of a oneshot this thing is going to be about 2383992 bazillion chapters, yay! I edited the tags to reflect the direction I'm gonna take this story in and I ask you guys to just bear with me here while I work it all out. I'm gonna take this to good places, I promise, and I've got it planned pretty much to the end, so... phew lol. I love you guys and I hope you like this! Thanks for reading!!

For the first time in a long time, Steve awoke not to the sound of his alarm blaring or his phone ringing, or to his own internal alarm clock screaming at him silently to wake up and start another long day at the job that dictated his entire life. In fact, he woke up to no noises or interruptions at all, the concept so strange that he wondered momentarily if something was wrong or, even worse, that his alarm had malfunctioned and he was late.

He grabbed for his phone before his eyes had even opened fully, pressing the home button and blinking until the screen came into focus. His eyes widened at the time - 9:30 AM, later than he'd slept in years, if he was being honest - and he was thoroughly confused until he heard a soft, slightly adorable snoring noise come from the other side of the bed.

Phone still in hand, he slowly looked over and, once his eyes fell upon the man laying next to him, he suddenly remembered everything. The previous night came flooding back to him, filling his brain with images and sounds and things that made his heart stutter and stomach clench. It all felt like a dream and yet incredibly real at the same time, an eye opening and life altering experience that he'd never forget a minute of, probably never go a day without thinking of for the rest of his life.

But laying there and watching him, this perfect stranger, _Bucky_ , asleep in his bed under the sheets, lying on his stomach and his hair a mess in his face and eyes, Steve could feel the start of a panic attack taking root within. The longer he stared at him the more it grew, the pleasant morning-after haze fading into a sickening curl of anxiety that threatened to ruin everything and cast a shadow on the entire experience. And that was the last thing Steve wanted.

Staying as quiet as possible, Steve slipped out of bed and put some distance between himself and Bucky, thinking it was his best hope at staving off a meltdown before it was too late. Bucky didn't move as Steve padded around the room, staying thankfully knocked out while Steve made a silent dash for the bathroom down the hall.

Underneath a spray of water so blindingly hot it was just the right side of painful, Steve woke up fully and his brain cleared up some, the urge to freak out still there on the periphery but in check for the time being. He reminded himself that there was nothing to panic over, nothing to feel guilty about, nothing to second guess. What happened last night wasn't even illegal, not after Bucky returned Loki's payment, and without that complicating factor there wasn't a single logical reason for him to feel anything but damn good about what had happened.

But his thoughts and feelings weren't always logical and he knew that better than anyone. It wasn't the fact that Bucky was an escort, wasn't the fact that he was a man, wasn't anything like that giving Steve such a hard time in the new light of day. It was the simple fact of letting someone in the way he had, of letting himself open up to that kind of physical connection in the first place. It wasn't something he did often and never _ever_ with a stranger, but Bucky didn't really feel like one. He couldn't explain it, but it was the truth.

But he avoided these things for a reason. The brick wall he'd built around himself wasn't there for decoration, wasn't a conversation piece, and he hadn't been lying when he said he wasn't like everyone else and didn't do or need casual things. One night with Bucky wouldn't and couldn't change that, but that was the whole problem - it had come so naturally and Steve genuinely _liked_ the man, and that was why falling into bed with him had been so easy. And that was just after a few hours of hanging out and talking and drinking together. God only knew how much more he'd like him if they saw each other again.

He shut off the shower and walked out of it more awake but more confused than when he'd started, but one thought comforted him as he dried off and dressed in the clothes he'd haphazardly grabbed from his room on his way out. Bucky seemed all about the casual thing, being as busy and driven as he was, and Steve doubted they'd ever see each other again after today. Last night was undoubtedly a one time deal, amazing but not the precursor to anything else, and that was fine. That was more than fine, in fact. Anything else would be beyond the scope of what Steve was equipped to handle.

And so, brain as calm as it was gonna get, Steve quietly left the bathroom and, on his way to the kitchen, peered into his bedroom to check if Bucky was still sleeping. He was, even still in the exact same position Steve had left him in, and he smiled a little bit as he stepped away and resumed his trek to the kitchen.

Bucky had been nice enough to return a ridiculously high payment to Loki all because Steve wasn't comfortable with the arrangement. The least Steve could do in return was make him breakfast.

He was one and a half cups of coffee deep and halfway through cooking the feast he was concocting when his phone buzzed on the counter with a new text. It was from work, his second in command asking where he was and if he was all right. He quickly sent off a reply, telling her that he was fine and merely taking his first non-essential day off probably since he'd started the job. He then set the phone back down and refocused on the task at hand, at least until a deep, sleepy voice murmured from behind him, "You made fucking _pancakes_?"

Steve startled a little and looked over his shoulder, double taking at the shamelessly disheveled man leaning against his refrigerator and smirking at him like he knew something Steve didn't. Steve opened his mouth to answer but got stuck staring for much longer than he intended, but what else was he supposed to do with Bucky standing there shirtless and tattooed with that hair messy and in his face and -

"... And now you're _burning_ pancakes," Bucky noted with amusement.

Steve blinked and then turned back to the stove with a muttered curse, flipping the latest pancake and yep, one side was definitely burned now.

"Maybe you shouldn't sneak up on people," Steve replied, tossing the pancake in the trash and glancing back at him.

"Hey, you're the big bad 'classified' federal agent," Bucky pointed out, pushing off the fridge to wander around and poke at whatever he found interesting in the kitchen. "Shouldn't be able to get the drop on you that easy."

"Yeah, well," Steve muttered, pouring more batter into the skillet and trying not to stare at Bucky as he peered into a few of his cabinets, "Guess I'm off my game today."

"And why would that be?" Bucky wondered aloud, getting bored with his open snooping and sidling up to Steve, leaning his back against the counter next to the stove. "Didn't get enough sleep last night?"

Steve rolled his eyes at the cheeky question. "I got more sleep last night than I have in months."

"Is that so," Bucky smirked, watching as Steve pretended to be thoroughly engrossed in watching the skillet. "Seriously though... pancakes?"

Steve side-eyed him. "Do you not like pancakes?"

"I'm a human being, I like pancakes," Bucky shrugged. "Just didn't expect to wake up to you making them." He eyed the open bag of flour on the counter and a few other items, then asked, "From scratch?"

"My mom's recipe," Steve replied with a small shrug of one shoulder. "Didn't have much else on hand, honestly. Wasn't expecting company last night."

Their eyes met after that and Bucky gave him a look that made him almost forget what he was doing again, but only almost. He tore his eyes away but Bucky didn't. "Thought you might have freaked out and bolted when I woke up and you weren't there. Glad you didn't."

Regardless of how he had freaked out a little bit upon waking, it wasn't in the way that Bucky thought so Steve didn't feel badly about pretending that was true. "Nope. Besides," he joked, turning off the stove and depositing the last pancake on top of the stack already made, "that would have been rude."

Bucky watched him as he began picking up the kitchen, putting away what he'd used and, when he started to walk past him, Bucky reached out and gently grabbed his forearm. He pulled him in and Steve seemed surprised by it, eyeing him as Bucky looked him over and murmured, "Much as I appreciate it, wish you would have stayed in bed and let me wake you up the way I was kinda hoping to."

Steve couldn't speak at first, not with how close they suddenly were and the way Bucky was looking at him and casually slipping his fingertips up under the hem of his shirt. "... Sorry," he finally managed to mutter for lack of other options.

"It's all right," Bucky chuckled, making a fist around the bottom of his shirt and pulling him closer, eyes on his lips. "I can get on my knees here, too."

Then he kissed him and Steve's brain shut off for a moment, for some reason having not expected it or even thought this was a possibility for how the morning might go. He would have felt stupid for being so mistaken had he been capable of feeling anything else but warmth and pleasure from the kiss, from being that close to him and feeling him again. He tasted like Steve's toothpaste and he kissed him like he had every right in the world to do it, like he was perfectly content to stand there and kiss the hell out of him and only break away so he could kiss down his throat and take his breath away.

Steve was speechless, heart pounding and body responding faster than he could comprehend. Bucky was groaning low into his neck and inching up his shirt as the seconds passed, trailing his lips lower and lower until they touched the fabric of his collar. He pulled away then and dropped to his knees so fast Steve barely realized it until his pants were being worked down and a warm, hungry mouth was kissing down his stomach with an unmistakable goal in mind.

"Bucky," he said breathlessly, hands reaching down for his hair but not grasping it, hovering instead. "Bucky, you -"

Bucky answered only with a low moan of delight upon discovering how hard Steve already was, taking his length in hand and dragging his lips along it before murmuring with clear satisfaction, "Didn't take long."

The expert, well-practiced swirl of a hot tongue all around his tip brought him to full hardness, need coursing through his veins and breakfast forgotten for the time being. It sent him reeling, how quickly this man had whipped him up into a frenzy, but he didn't have a chance to comprehend any of it before Bucky was sucking him in, gazing up at him in a way that made Steve grasp the counter with one hand to keep steady. His free hand gently pushed back the rogue strands of hair from Bucky's forehead, the touch making Bucky briefly close his eyes just as he managed to take in the last inch. Then he drew away just to do it all over again, working up a rhythm not too slow and not too fast but exactly what Steve needed to lose his damn mind.

He was unbelievable, this man Steve hadn't even known for a full 24 hours. He'd learned Steve incredibly well in that short amount of time, great instincts and skill colliding and resulting in the kind of sex that Steve had heard about but never experienced himself. He couldn't think when Bucky's mouth was on him, couldn't ruin the experience with his racing thoughts and inner conflict, his entire existence focused on those moments alone, and on the man on his knees in front of him who was making it all happen. And when he heard and _felt_ Bucky groan around him, looked down and saw the slight tremble and motion of his tattooed left arm, it only got worse.

Steve heard himself say Bucky's name, his tone so breathless and desperate that it barely sounded like him, but he didn't care. All he cared about was the fact that he was so close to falling apart and that Bucky was shamelessly getting himself off while sucking him so perfectly, the entire display so filthy that Steve couldn't help how quickly it sent him over the edge. Just a few seconds of watching his arm at work and feeling his little muffled whimpers of pleasure while swallowing around him and that was it, Steve was lost and holding on to the counter like an anchor as Bucky happily and contentedly drank him down.

Panting and barely staying on his feet, Steve's head hung low and chest heaved as he recovered and felt Bucky gently, carefully release him from his mouth. He didn't go far, though, his swollen, pretty lips drifting to Steve's thigh and wandering up to his hipbone, teeth scraping gently and tongue tasting soothing over him while he worked himself a little faster. Steve watched him in awe until he just had to see more, had to get a better angle, reaching down and grabbing him by his hair and pulling him back and away.

Bucky's eyes opened and didn't hesitate to lock with Steve's, his movements never faltering and maybe even picking up speed once their gazes met. Bucky leaned back against the cabinet behind him and put on a show for Steve much like he briefly had the night before, knowing well by now how much he liked it and what it did to him. He let his eyes fall shut and bit his lip, letting out a low little moan and relishing the feeling of being watched, of having Steve stare at him like he was best and most enticing thing he'd ever seen in his life. He loved it and it drove him to the edge so fast it surprised even himself, but Steve didn't miss the signs and he had other plans for him.

"Up, stand up," he urged Bucky quietly, giving his hair a tug for emphasis. He rose to his feet quickly, left hand staying where it was and not even breaking its rhythm until Steve grabbed his wrist and placed his arm at his side while falling to his own knees. He didn't waste any time, Bucky's hand barely off of his length before Steve's lips were around it, and the sound that flew out of Bucky's mouth at that first contact was something Steve would never forget.

"Fucking hell, Steve, you don't - _ah_ \- you don't fuck around," Bucky groaned, holding on to the counter behind him with his left hand while his right tangled in Steve's hair. It might have only been the second time Steve had ever done this but his enthusiasm and determination set him apart from the rest and made up for his lack of skill, just as it had the night before. Unlike the night before, however, this time he was gonna make sure he finished the job.

He was so close already and Steve knew it, could see in his eyes and feel it in the tension in his body, and he wanted nothing more than to push him over that edge. He sucked him relentlessly, both hands on his hips and eyes closed and attention focused fully on his task, and long before he could have his fill of it, Bucky's last thread of self control snapped and Steve's only warning was a roar of a moan that he couldn't hold back as he came on his tongue.

It was what he'd wanted, what he'd craved, but he still wasn't quite prepared for it. He haphazardly swallowed what he could and made a mess with the rest, pulling off with a gasp of a breath and wiping at his mouth with his hand. He then realized just how little he'd managed to keep in and sighed a little as he touched the now-wet collar of his shirt.

Above him, Bucky chuckled breathlessly and ran his fingers through Steve's hair gently, almost affectionately. "Oh shit, Steve, your face... I'm sorry. Would have warned you but... words weren't... working."

"It's okay," Steve assured him, standing up and taking off his shirt. "Needed to do laundry anyway."

Bucky watched him with a lazy grin as he used the shirt like a towel and cleaned himself off as best as he could. "See, you should have waited to shower. Could have conserved water with me instead of wasting it and getting dirty again like 20 minutes later."

Steve gave him a look. "And whose fault is that?"

"Yours," Bucky said, still with that grin and half-sprawled against the counter, pants open and not a care in the world about any of it. "Do you have any fucking idea what you look like, Steve?"

Steve rolled his eyes and turned away, though he couldn't quite wipe the little smirk off of his face. "Get cleaned up. I didn't make all those pancakes for nothing."

He heard Bucky's cheeky little _yes sir_ from behind him. It almost made him stop in his tracks and turn around and physically drag him back to bed. Almost.

Instead, they both managed to behave like mostly civilized adults for a little while and cleaned themselves up before finally sitting down in the kitchen together to eat breakfast. Bucky did indeed like pancakes, as it turned out, and he also liked them drowned in so much syrup Steve couldn't help but stare at him with open judgment. But Bucky didn't care, merely grinning Steve before passing the now half empty bottle back to him and then digging in.

He was an interesting one, Steve thought. Talking to him was incredibly easy, had been that way since the moment they'd met the night before, and they covered a range of subjects from food to work to sports and everything in between. They meshed remarkably well on most topics, and Steve enjoyed his company and conversation as much as he enjoyed his other talents.

Before he knew it, two more hours had passed. Bucky had helped him clean up the kitchen after breakfast and then they had taken the conversation to the couch in the living room, and despite the long morning together, when Bucky sighed and decided aloud that it was probably time to leave, Steve immediately wanted to protest. He didn't, however, knowing that Bucky was right and it was time to part ways. It had been a wonderful, incredible experience, but all good things had to come to an end sooner or later.

When Bucky had gathered his few belongings and had no more reason to linger, Steve walked him to his front door with his hands in his pocket and his voice deceptively light as he said, "I'd say thank you for last night, but... I guess I should technically be thanking Loki."

Bucky chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, give me _some_ credit. I stuck around after I found out you're an FBI agent, that's gotta count for something."

"I suppose it does," Steve grinned, their steps halting once they reached the door.

"Also means I'm an idiot, but," Bucky trailed off, shrugging his shoulders. He caught Steve's gaze and smiled at him, adding more quietly, "You're pretty cool for a stuffy old Fed."

"... Thanks," Steve quirked a brow. "I think."

Bucky's smile widened. His eyes flickered briefly over Steve's lips and he bit his own lower lip before saying, "Hey, let me see your phone."

Steve hesitated but reached into his back pocket and handed it over anyway. Bucky took it and, upon pushing the home button, paused and said with slightly wide eyes, " _Fuck_... who's that? Girlfriend? I thought you said you're single."

"Oh. I am," Steve replied quickly, cheeks heating up in a blush. "That's my friend. She works with me."

Bucky glanced up at him. "The friend you dated for awhile?" When Steve nodded, Bucky looked back down at the cute picture of the two of them and murmured, "She's fucking gorgeous. The hell's wrong with you?"

He asked the question with humor and Steve chuckled but didn't find it very humorous. He didn't know what was wrong with him, not really, and that was part of the whole problem. "Work rules. I'm in a position of authority and... you know how that goes."

Bucky shrugged again and finally opened the phone, pulling up his contacts and creating a new one. "Well, you don't seem to have too much of a problem breaking the rules, so..." He trailed off, tapping the screen and grinning to himself as he finished up and then locked the phone. "There. You ever wanna get together and... have more pancakes," he grinned, stepping closer so that their chests nearly touched, reaching around him and sliding the phone back into his back pocket for him, "text me."

They were suddenly unbearably close again, sharing the same breaths and Bucky's hand lingering on Steve's hip after depositing his phone into his pocket. Neither of them made a move to pull away, Steve's eyes tripping over Bucky's mouth as he murmured, "Maybe I will."

"I hope you do," Bucky replied equally quietly, tone one of unmistakable lust, a little teasing too. "Last night was fucking incredible. This morning too."

"Yeah," Steve agreed quietly, licking his lips and feeling his heart pounding all over again. "It was."

"I'm glad I could... broaden your horizons," Bucky chuckled. "Clear up any doubts you might have had about yourself." Then he raised an eyebrow. "What's the verdict, by the way? Sure you're still... equal opportunity or..."

Steve could barely think when Bucky was that close to him but he managed to just comprehend the question. He blinked and looked down, mind briefly drifting to the very woman Bucky had complimented on his lock screen a moment ago, and he didn't hesitate to reply, "Yeah, no. Definitely like everyone."

Bucky nodded. "Well. Welcome to the club." Then he kissed Steve, short but sweet and enough to make him tingle all over, murmuring against his lips, "Real glad it was me who got to have your first time."

"Me too," Steve muttered quietly, tilting his head and bringing their lips closer together. He lingered like that for a few seconds, not pulling away or drawing closer until he decided he simply didn't care and damn the consequences. He reached up with both hands and held Bucky's face as he kissed him much longer and much deeper than Bucky had kissed him, and he could all but feel the restraint leave the other man.

Bucky's hands curled around his hips and pulled them against his own, tongue sliding hot and bold in Steve's mouth and setting him on fire again, sparking a hunger that he couldn't and didn't want to deny. He broke away only to lean his forehead against Bucky's long enough to ask in a low, heated murmur, "Stay a little longer?"

The smile that crept up on Bucky's face was one Steve knew he would be thinking about for days to come.

"Yes sir."

OOO

A week passed by, and life went back to normal. Steve returned to work a slightly calmer, less tension-ridden man, the most well-rested that he'd been since the day he first took the job. And he couldn't tell a single person about it - aside from Loki, of course, who made sure to drop in a few days later and gloat until he was blue in the face.

As Special Agent in Charge of a top secret, off the books FBI task force that targeted the world's most dangerous terrorists both foreign and domestic, Steve was not someone who had the luxury of a normal social or love life. Even without the anxiety and insecurities he couldn't seem to shake, his work made it hard to carve out time for himself at the best of times and impossible at the worst. But he figured it was an even trade off, since he was good at his job but useless with everything else, at least in his estimation. He was making his country safer one day and one target at a time, and that was what mattered.

The loneliness that crept in when he would go home to his empty apartment at night was just another part of life, he told himself more often than he'd care to admit. It hadn't been so bad before his night with Bucky, but afterwards it was hard to look around without seeing the invisible imprints he'd left behind. It had been such a dramatic shift, not being alone and letting someone in for a night, and he thought about it a lot more than he knew he should have.

He just couldn't help it. And it was precisely why he tried to keep that part of himself turned off, keep everyone at arm's length, never let himself need anyone else.

8 days after his birthday, Steve was sitting at home alone as per usual, beer in one hand and a lengthy, boring DOJ report in the other. The TV was on but he wasn't paying attention, using it more for white noise than anything else, and he was debating heading to bed now so he could get up extra early for a run when his phone dinged from its place on the couch next to his thigh and stole his attention. He glanced at the screen and paused, brows furrowing as he picked it up and stared in confusion at the text he'd just received.

It was from a contact apparently named Please Don't Arrest Me, and the message contained a picture of a television mounted on a wall in a shop of some kind and the words beneath it read, _This you, Agent Big Deal?_

It took him a few seconds but eventually it all clicked and Steve grinned a little, shaking his head at the contact name Bucky had chosen for himself as well as the message itself. Briefly he wondered how Bucky knew his number - Steve hadn't given it to him and Bucky had put his number in Steve's phone, not vice versa. Maybe he saw it while he had been putting in his own number and just had a damn good memory.

He took a closer look at the TV screen in the photo and recognized the news channel it was on, broadcasting a report about a big drug bust one state over. He then typed back with that little grin stuck to his face, _That's DEA, genius. I've got bigger fish to fry._

He hit send and sat back, taking a long drink and finding himself surprised that Bucky had reached out at all. Despite how long Bucky had lingered the morning after their initial encounter and how much Steve knew that he had genuinely enjoyed himself, he still hadn't expected to ever actually hear from him again. But he was glad to be wrong.

_Damn_ , came Bucky's reply a moment or two later. _Bigger fish, huh? You must be a big deal._

_Can neither confirm nor deny,_ Steve teased back. Then he sent another quick message. _That your shop?_

The next reply took a little bit longer, though the several minutes passed by like mere seconds. _That it is_. Then a pause, and another message. _What are you up to tonight?_

The question unexpectedly made Steve shiver a little bit, his mind flashing with what he would very much like to be doing instead of drinking alone with terrible reading material, but before he could answer a knock on the door made him stop short. Brows furrowing yet again, he checked the time on his phone and then locked it, setting his drink and the report aside as he stood up and headed to the door. He definitely wasn't expecting anyone and the last time someone had showed up like this... _well_ , he had been replaying what had followed almost nonstop in his head ever since.

After unlocking and opening the door, he pulled it open just enough to see who was on the other side and, like flipping a light switch, the slight confusion and hesitance on his face disappeared and a warm smile overcame him instead. "Summer," he said lightly, opening the door the rest of the way, "you're back."

"I'm back!" the cheerful, pretty brunette exclaimed, holding up a big pale blue box. "And I made you a late birthday cake!"

"Aw," he grinned, eyes softening as she shoved the box into his hands. "You didn't have to do that."

"Oh yes I did," she argued, walking inside the apartment when he stepped aside for her to do so. "I missed your birthday so I had to make up for it one way or another."

"You didn't, though," he said, kicking the door shut with his foot and smiling at her as she looked up at him with a mirroring smile, a welcome sight after not having seen her for a few weeks. "Family comes first, I get that."

"Oh my God," she groaned, taking the cake box back from him and turning to head into his kitchen. "Don't even get me started on what a giant waste of time that entire trip home was."

"Really?" he asked, following her into the kitchen. "That bad?"

"Awful," she confirmed, setting the cake down on the counter and then leaning against it, turning to face him as he did the same. "So my crazy racist uncle died, as you know, but he had money so that's why all of us left had to go and straighten everything out because he was an idiot and left no will or anything even remotely hinting at how he wanted it all divided."

"Right," Steve nodded, heading towards the fridge. "Want a drink?"

"I'd kill for some wine," she admitted. "So yeah, so this uncle was my dad's brother, and I thought hey, maybe there'll be some stuff of my dad's there, you know? Pictures, documents maybe, you know - stuff like that."

"Right," he agreed, walking her way with a clean glass and a bottle of chilled Chardonnay that he definitely didn't keep around just for her in case she ever dropped in for a visit.

She watched him grab a corkscrew and start working on the bottle as she went on, "My dad's been gone so long and I don't have much of anything from him, so... I don't know, I was just hoping there'd be something there plus my uncle was this giant hoarder so it would make sense if there was, right?"

"Absolutely," Steve nodded, pulling the cork out.

"Wrong. So wrong. There was nothing," she shook her head. "All we found were giant piles of garbage - not literal garbage but just... junk. Worthless, useless junk in every single room. And I volunteered to go through the master bedroom and it was a terrible, horrible, bad mistake."

Steve eyed her with concern as he poured her a glass. "What happened?"

She made a face of pure disgust and took the glass when he offered it to her, holding it as she grimaced and whined, "I found his homemade porn stash."

".... _His what?!_ " Steve asked in horror, eyes wide as Summer cringed and fought the urge to vomit on the spot. "Please tell me you're joking."

"Trust me, I wish I was," she groaned, dragging a hand over her face. "I'll never unsee what I saw. Like, he was 73. _73_ , Steve. It's bad enough to find your creepy uncle's homemade porn no matter what, but when they're that old and didn't exactly age well to begin with? I need therapy."

"I'm so sorry," Steve cringed, smiling and frowning at the same time. "I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."

"Neither would I," she sighed after taking a long, smooth drink of the wine. "Oh, this is good."

"You say that like I'd give you anything but the good stuff," Steve teased.

She smiled and tilted her head in concession. "I guess you're right." Then she took another sip and then held out the glass. "Top me off. Maybe this'll help me forget about the horrible images burned into my retinas."

He chuckled and complied, refilling her glass. "How about we just change the subject and get your mind off it? To start with... what kinda cake is this?"

She hurriedly swallowed another gulp and then grinned excitedly, reaching over and lifting up the lid on the box to reveal the delicious confection. "It's my go-to chocolate cake that you like but with a twist this time."

"What's the twist?" he asked with a cautious grin, knowing her tastes could run quite a bit sweeter than his.

"The ganache," she said, gesturing to the rich and shiny chocolate sauce smothering the whole thing from top to bottom, "is a dark chocolate whiskey ganache."

His eyes flitted from the cake to her, narrowing by a fraction. "Dark... chocolate... and whiskey?"

"It's the best thing you're ever gonna put in your mouth," she told him with 100% confidence before seeming to realize the slightly suggestive edge to those words and blushing, dropping her eyes and fidgeting with an embarrassed smile. "You know. Food wise."

"Yeah. What else could that mean?" he asked nonchalantly with just a hint of a smirk, unable to help himself from teasing her a little.

"... Nothing," she smiled, still not meeting his gaze and blushing harder. "So, uh... do you wanna... eat it?"

Physically controlling himself from turning that into another and dramatically less subtle innuendo, Steve gave her a break and nodded as he reached into his cabinets for plates. "Yeah, yeah. Looks amazing. You didn't have to go through all the trouble, though - how long have you even been back?"

".... This morning," she admitted. "It was kinda the first thing I did when I got back to my apartment."

He paused and set the plates down, giving her that _look_ he often did whenever she went well above the call of duty for any given task. " _Summer_..."

"I know, I know what you're gonna say," she shrugged, holding up her free hand, "but I felt so bad missing your birthday and when you said you were gonna spend it alone I just..."

"It's not a big deal," he assured her. "And I wasn't alone."

"Oh. You weren't?"

He paused and fought the urge to blush, swallowing and stepping around her to grab a knife from the block on his counter a few feet away. "Yeah. So don't worry about it. No reason to feel bad either way. Though I do appreciate the gesture very much, of course."

"... Okay," she nodded, taking another sip of wine before curiosity got the best of her. She paused and asked as casually and non-fishing as possible, "You and Nat do something, then?"

"No, she was working," he replied, about to cut into the cake until he paused and offered the knife to her. "Do you wanna -"

"Oh!" she suddenly exclaimed, setting her glass on the counter and all but tearing out of the kitchen. He watched in confusion until she returned with her purse in hand, from which she produced a lighter and a pack of birthday candles. She set both down on the counter and then beamed, "You can't cut it until you blow out the candles."

He laughed, his head falling back a little bit in the process. "I haven't blown out candles on a birthday cake since I was like... 15 I think?"

"Well then you've been doing it wrong for... wait, how old are you now?"

He sighed, smile lingering. "35."

"Ooh," she mock-cringed. "Closer to 40 than 30."

He raised his eyebrows and shot back, "You really wanna go there, McAdams?"

"Nope," she giggled, shaking her head and opening the box of candles so she could start placing them into the cake. "Nope I don't. Though when you hit the big 4-0... all bets are off."

"I'll keep that in mind," he chuckled, watching her poke the little candles into the cake. "Are you really gonna put 35 candles in there?"

"Well, this pack has 45, so yep," she grinned. "Don't worry, I'll help you blow them out if you get worn out. Since you're so old now."

He side eyed her. "You're on thin ice."

She giggled and then finished the task, quickly counting over each one to double check the number. Then she grabbed the lighter and began the slightly tedious task of lighting each one, Steve helping by picking up one of the candles and using it to light the others, and before long, each candle was finally lit. He also realized entirely too late what colors they were.

".... These are red white and blue," he noted with a chuckle and a glance her way.

"Well, born on the 4th of July and all," she shrugged with a smile. "Now make a wish and blow them out before the cake gets all waxy."

He nodded and turned towards the cake, but he couldn't help letting his eyes flicker back her way for a few seconds. She was leaning on the counter with a silly smile on her face, blue eyes bright and cheeks wearing that nearly permanent blush she always had around him, the dancing light of the candles bringing a warmth to her beautiful and familiar features and it suited her well. It was tough to tear his eyes away but he did, feeling a bit silly but wanting to make her happy and go along with her sweet little late birthday plans.

He hesitated, mind blanking at first at the mere idea of a wish. But then, after drawing a deep breath, a very simple one came to mind and he decided to run with it. Then he leaned forward and blew out the candles, both of them laughing when he only got about half of them. A few more breaths knocked those out except for one in the back, and before he could get it, Summer leaned over and blew it out herself.

"There," she smiled, the air between them smoky as she began plucking the candles back out. "Happy late birthday."

"Thanks," he grinned, watching her and fighting the urge to grab her wrist and make her leave the candles as they were and push her gently against the counter and just....

"So go sit down," she said, interrupting his thoughts and making him blink. "I'll cut it and bring you the first piece."

"You don't have to do that, I can -"

She turned her head his way and gave him a cute but serious look he couldn't argue with. "Go sit!"

He held up his hands in surrender and chuckled, backing away. "Yes, ma'am."

She grinned at his word choice and he slipped out of the kitchen, taking a deep breath as he made his way to the couch. He grabbed the report he'd been reading and tossed it on his coffee table, then sat down in his usual spot and picked up his phone when he realized he'd never answered Bucky's question of what he was up to.

_Not much, hanging out with a friend,_ he replied. Locking his phone and setting it down while he listened to Summer putter about in the kitchen. He didn't expect Bucky's reply to come so fast.

_Nice. The pretty one from your lock screen?_

Steve rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair as he typed his reply. He really was entirely too honest for his own good. _Maybe_.

Bucky's reply was even quicker this time. _Hope I'm not interrupting anything. Well actually I do hope I'm interrupting because you should definitely hit that._

Steve made a face and quickly replied, _She's my closest friend. Wouldn't be 'hitting' anything._

_My bad, sorry. Let me rephrase: you should take her to bed and give her the best night of her fucking life before she finds it somewhere else._

Steve sighed and stared at the screen, at a loss as to how to answer that one. He was spared when Bucky quickly sent another text. _Sorry. Just some friendly advice, that's all. Admittedly I'm a little biased._

_Biased how?_ Steve asked, though he quickly locked his phone and dropped it to the arm of the couch next to him when Summer resurfaced bearing two plates in her hands and cradling her wine glass between the crook of her arm and her chest.

"Here you go," she chirped, handing Steve the plate with the biggest piece and then taking her wine glass in her now free hand. "I hope you like it."

"Can't imagine why I wouldn't," he replied, sitting up a little straighter as she took a seat next to him. She didn't sit too close or too far away, but that perfect medium that only close friends could occupy.

She squinted at his TV and asked with no small hint of judgment in her tone, "What on earth are you watching?"

"Nothing," he replied automatically, glancing at the screen and then furrowing his brows. "I just had it on for the background noise."

"So you didn't mean to watch ' _Killer Spiderwhale 2_ '?" she laughed. "I mean, hey, whatever you're into. Did it have an opening scene that explained how a spider mated with a whale?"

"You know, I couldn't answer that," he chuckled. "I was very engrossed in that instead." He pointed to the report and Summer looked at it and cringed.

"I'd definitely find spider/whale mating more interesting than that," she admitted, glancing his way and watching as he took his first bite of the cake. She grinned and waited impatiently for his reaction, squeaking the very minute the fork passed his lips, "Is it good?!"

He laughed around the fork and mumbled, "Can I taste it first?"

"Nope," she joked, laughing with him. "I'm sorry, I've just never actually used that ganache before and I know I like it but I'm not sure if you will and I _really really_ hope you like it so..."

In the time she had spent rambling about the cake he managed to chew and swallow that first bite, and after he had processed the texture and the flavor and decided how he felt about it, he turned his head her way and looked at her with the utmost seriousness. "Summer."

Her smile fell and her eyes widened, clearly unsure as to what was coming next. "Yeah?"

He took a breath and looked her in the eye. "This actually _just might_ be the best thing I've ever put in my mouth."

The wide, enthusiastic smile that spread across her lips made him feel so warm inside he couldn't help but mirror her smile himself. "Really?! Are you just saying that? Do you really mean it?"

He sighed and raised one brow, pausing another bite halfway to his mouth. "Do I lie, Summer?"

"... No," she conceded, "but you're also the most polite person I've ever met so... you probably wouldn't tell me if you hated it."

He rolled his eyes, the second forkful even better than the first. "You don't have to worry about that. I've never hated anything you've made. Except for those lemon cookies."

"That's right," she giggled. "The lemon cookies."

"They were fine cookies, just don't like lemon," he shrugged. "And see? I was honest about that, wasn't I?"

"Okay, fair enough," she nodded, relaxing back against the couch. "I'll just shut up and... stuff my face."

"My God," he groaned, all but shoveling it in at this point. "This is just..." His phone dinged and made his stomach flip a little bit, but he ignored it. "... Amazing. I don't know how you do it."

"It's pretty easy," she shrugged, digging in on her slice but enjoying eating up all of his compliments even more. "I just follow the instructions. Tweak a little bit here and there." His phone dinged again and she glanced at it on the arm of the couch as he continued to ignore it. "Then hope for the best."

"Well, I'm impressed," he replied, tossing her a light grin. "But that's nothing new."

She smiled back as she chewed her latest bite and, when his phone went off again, swallowed and noted, "Someone's popular tonight."

Trying to suppress a sudden nervous thrill, he gestured vaguely with his free hand before picking up the phone and unlocking it. "No, not really, just a..."

He trailed off as his eyes skimmed over the texts, Bucky's responses to Steve's question of why he was biased.

_Guess because you're a good guy and I think you deserve to be happy and have all the hot sex_

_Even if it's not with me, though my doors always open ;)_

_.... Idk whether to be proud or ashamed of that particular pun_

A blush rising rapidly up Steve's chest and neck, he didn't hear Summer's question until she waved her hand and chuckled, "Hellooo... earth to Steve..."

"Yeah?" he replied far too quickly and at too high a pitch, eyes too wide as they flew to hers and cheeks too pink. "What?"

She raised her eyebrows and grinned at his inexplicable reaction. "You okay?"

"Mhm," he nodded. "Yeah. Fine. Just a... person."

Her brows inched up even higher, threatening to leave her face altogether. "A person?" He nodded and she asked, "What kind of person?"

"Friend," he shrugged.

"Like a... _friend_ friend or a... _friend_?"

He furrowed his brows. "The first... I think?"

"You think?"

"What?"

"What?"

They stared at each other in sheer bewilderment for a few good seconds before Summer ungracefully sputtered with laughter, and he had no choice but to start laughing with her. He was lost and so was she, but on the bright side it helped him overcome his current blushing problem and shove it down for the time being.

He locked his phone and dropped it to his lap, picking his fork back up and shrugging, "Yeah, nothing important. Don't worry about it."

"Okay," she shrugged, knowing when to back off and stop prying. Mostly, anyway. She watched him push the phone's home button to check the time and then almost choked on her mouthful of cake. "Oh my God!"

His eyes flew to hers in confusion yet again. "What?"

"You still have our picture as your background!" she exclaimed happily, grabbing his phone to smile at the admittedly adorable picture. She had snapped it with his phone during a rare night out drinking with a handful of his best agents, celebrating the capture of a particularly elusive and dangerous terrorist that had been a thorn in their sides for two years. Summer had thrown tequila at him until he'd started honest to God giggling, and she had wanted to document such a rare occasion with a mini-photoshoot. The best photo had made her squeal with delight and she'd set it as his lock screen half as a joke, but he'd never thought to change it ever since.

His memory of that night was fuzzy, but he remembered enough to know that she had kissed him out of sight of the others and he had devoured her in return until what was left of his brain kicked in and he stopped, pushing her away like he always did. He knew his reasons for doing so were solid and valid, at least in his mind, but it didn't make him feel any less guilty or angry. He didn't _want_ to push her away. He hated it with every fiber of his being.

"Yeah," he replied with a small shrug, taking the phone back from her when she handed it back to him. "I like it."

"Me too," she replied sweetly. He then went for another bite of cake only to clank his fork against the now apparently empty plate, and she laughed at the way his eyes narrowed in confusion and then fell with sadness. "Here, take the rest of mine. I've had enough for one day. Don't wanna blow up."

He gave her a pointed look that told her how ridiculous that statement was and waved her off. "No, no. You made me the whole damn thing, I'm not taking your piece."

"But I want you to take it!" she all but begged, trying to shove the plate into his hands even as he pushed it back towards her. "I'm trying to lose weight, not gain five pounds in pure chocolate."

His face scrunched up in confusion and he asked incredulously, "Lose weight _where_?!"

"I... everywhere, I don't know," she shrugged, flushing in slight embarrassment. "It's... you know... bikini season."

He drew a deep breath and gave her the kind of stern look she often saw him give to new recruits when they pissed him off. "First of all, that's ridiculous. And second of all, you're gonna finish that damn piece of cake even if I gotta feed you the rest of it myself."

As soon as the words left his mouth and her eyes widened and lips parted, he knew he'd made a mistake. He hadn't meant for it to come out like that, hadn't meant to cause the reaction in her that he damn well knew he had, just wanted her to enjoy the fruits of her labor and not deny herself something so good for a reason so silly and clearly unfounded, but... _well_. It just slipped out.

They stared at each other for a moment until she tore her eyes away, cheeks bright and heated as she studied the cake like it was suddenly fascinating. Then, with a tiny little smile that she was obviously trying to hide, she muttered quietly and teasingly, "Yes sir."

He nearly groaned out loud. Heat raced up his spine and his brain all but crashed, those two innocent words that he'd heard from her plenty of times before in a professional setting now carrying an entirely new, if unintentional, connotation.

And then, to his amazement, she picked the fork back up and... started finishing off the cake. She didn't say a word and neither did he, his eyes stuck to her like a magnet was preventing him from looking away, but she didn't look his way once. She just sat there and ate seemingly calmly, the slight tremble of her hand the only thing betraying her true feelings, and he couldn't even begin to wrap his mind around why this was having the effect on him that it was.

Then, once she was done and every last bite was gone, she placed the plate on the coffee table carefully and then leaned back, peeking up at him cautiously and... waiting for something, he realized.

It took him a moment to pinpoint what that was, but once he did, it made his heart nearly grind to a halt. "... Good," he murmured with a barely-there nod of his head, eyes on hers, and she couldn't have hid the subtle shiver that wracked through her as a result. He suddenly felt like his entire body was on fire, and judging by the way that she looked away and bit her lip, she wasn't faring much better.

It was beyond his comprehension but it was real and neither of them were immune. Summer, however, had the good sense to decide that it was the perfect time to chicken out and run away, running her hands nervously over her knees before muttering without looking his way, "Well, it's getting late, so I should, um... I should... go."

She started to stand up and his body acted seemingly without his permission, springing into action as his hand shot out and grasped her by the wrist once she was on her feet. She looked back at him in surprise and froze, and he stared up at her and murmured in a voice that he didn't quite recognize, "Don't go."

He watched her throat work as she swallowed, hesitating before managing in a small, nervous voice, "But I just.... I didn't think you... I thought..."

His hand slid down from her wrist to her own hand, curling around it and, after a few seconds, tugging her back down to the couch. "Just... don't go yet. Please."

She gave in without another word or shred of hesitation. And this time when she sat back down on the couch, it was a lot closer to him than she had been before.

Hands still linked, Steve stared down at them and took a few unsteady breaths before his eyes flashed up to hers and he confessed, "I've missed you."

It shouldn't have been a confession. Of course they'd missed each other - they were close friends who worked in close quarters together nearly every day and she had been gone for several weeks, the longest break she had ever taken from work since the day she was first assigned to the task force. But it _was_ a confession, somehow, and the meaning behind it made her already wide eyes grow so soft and alluring that it made his chest ache.

"I missed you too," she replied with a small, sweet smile. "A lot."

He smiled back and dropped his eyes to their hands, his thumb running over her knuckles absently, comfortably. She made him feel so anxious and yet so at home, he couldn't make sense of it.

"Steve?"

His eyes snapped back up to hers. "Yeah?"

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, not a single word escaping her lips or forming within her jumbled mess of inner thoughts despite her best efforts. He watched her struggle until he couldn't take it anymore, free hand reaching out and tucking her hair behind her ear and voice low as he whispered, " _Shhh_. I know."

She exhaled in relief and leaned into his touch. He did know. He wished he didn't, wished everything was different, but wishing never got him anywhere.

He ran the back of two fingers along her cheek, her briefly closed eyes opening and looking up at him in a way that made him truly hurt. She looked at him like he hung the moon, like he was the center of her universe and she just orbited around him, and it was the last thing he wanted from her. He was no good to be that to anyone, he knew it, and especially _her_ , a strong and brilliant but vulnerable woman he couldn't bear the thought of hurting.

And yet he just couldn't stop himself.

He leaned in slowly and watched her eyes blink rapidly a few times before closing, her breath quickening with anticipation. His effect on her was astounding, but hers on him was no less significant. He just knew how to hide it better.

He brushed his lips against hers, the touch light and innocent and hardly the first between them despite its caution. A part of him wished she'd snap back to her senses and leave before things got out of hand like he knew they would, but she was nowhere near that and neither was he. For all his impeccable self control, even he was weak and pathetic sometimes.

The second touch of their lips was firmer, surer, and Summer started to come to life. She kissed him back and her hand that wasn't tangled in his reached out and ended up on his chest, just over his heart, and he knew that she could feel the way that it was racing and thudding against his ribs. He cradled her cheek and when they pulled away he didn't go far, leaning his forehead against hers, his eyes closed but hers not. She stared at him, at his eyelashes and his slightly flushed cheeks and parted lips, and then she curled her hand into a fist around the fabric of his shirt and kissed him like she'd die if she couldn't.

And just like that, whatever restraint or self control he still had left snapped like a twig and for once, he didn't care. He matched her ferocity in their kiss as it deepened and lingered, her tongue hungry and searching and perfect in his mouth and before either of them could stop it, she was suddenly in his lap and his hands were on her hips and all the reasons he clung to for why they shouldn't do this disintegrated into nothing. Her hands slipped into his hair and he pulled her closer against him, their kisses turning frantic and hungry and the kind of consuming that was nothing short of addictive.

She tasted like Chardonnay and that ridiculously incredible cake of hers, felt even better under his hands than he remembered from the last time he'd let himself get carried away, soft and eager and all over him like she was afraid he'd disappear if she stopped to take a breath. That was his fault, he knew it.

But she had to breathe eventually, and when she broke away he took the opportunity to trail his lips to her neck, one hand slipping up the back of her top while the other slid down over her ass. She whimpered at all the different points of contact and sucked in a ragged breath as he nibbled at her pulse point, lips and teeth and beard throwing an onslaught of sensation her way that she drank up like a starving woman. He loved the way her fingers gripped his hair, the way she rocked her hips gently without even knowing it, the nervousness in her touch at war with the sheer need and desire that she had been holding back for entirely too long.

When he pulled away, looking up and meeting her heat-dazed eyes with his own, he knew right then that he wasn't gonna stop. He didn't have it in him this time to say no, to push her away and deprive them both, and he proved it by surging up to kiss her hard and inching up her shirt with his hands.

But he didn't get it even fully up and over her belly before the ear-piercing sound of his phone ringing sent the moment crashing and burning before their very eyes. She broke the kiss with a noise of surprise and blinked a few times, breathing hard as she stared at him and he debated ignoring it for a few moments. But eventually he grimaced and turned away, taking one hand off of her to irritatedly grab the phone and check the number.

His heart fell the minute his fuzzy brain processed the numbers on the screen. He glanced up at Summer and as soon as she saw the look in his eyes, she knew.

"Yeah," he muttered dejectedly after pressing the phone to his ear. He stared off into space and listened to the voice on the other end, pressing his eyes shut miserably once what he already knew was confirmed. "All right. I'm on my way."

He ended the call and tossed the phone down, looking up at Summer and finding her own disappointment written on her face. But this was their lives, after all. Things like this were exactly what they'd signed up for. Duty always came first, no matter what.

"I need to go in," he sighed. "There's a situation and -"

"I know," she nodded without hesitation. "I get it. It's okay."

"No it's not," he disagreed, running his hands over her hips. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," she assured him with a sweet smile. "Should I come in too?"

He shook his head. "Not until morning. You should go home and get some sleep. Sure you need it after your trip back."

"Okay," she nodded. Then she lingered there a few seconds longer until she blushed and looked down, shifting off his lap with a muttered, "Let me just..."

"Hey," he chuckled after she had moved, reaching out and kissing her softly, a wordless apology. "We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

She nodded and tried to seem calm and nonchalant but she wasn't and he knew exactly why. She was afraid of him freaking out again like he always did, and frankly he was too. Now that reality had come and metaphorically dumped a barrel of ice cold water over them both, extinguishing the heat and the magic of the previous moments, he was already starting to wonder what the hell he'd been thinking.

He _hadn't_ been thinking at all.

Nonetheless, he quickly dressed and grabbed his phone and keys as she covered the cake and got her own things together. He walked her to the door and then to her car, and they shared a hug and another quiet promise to talk later before parting ways for the night. He headed to the secret underground facility his task force operated out of and she drove home, both them quietly afraid for what the next morning might bring.

In the end, the text that Steve sent to Summer before she woke up the following day surprised neither of them. But as much as Summer had expected it, reading his gentle words of rejection and _I'm sorry for putting you in that position, it wasn't fair and it was a mistake and it can't happen again,_ her anticipation didn't make the blow any less harsh or heartbreaking.

But in Steve's mind, there was no other real choice. It was the right thing to do, the only thing to do, and the only way to ensure that he didn't hurt her anymore than he already had.

She'd be happy someday, just not with him. He could live with that, he told himself whenever the thought of seeing her with someone else became unbearable. She deserved better than what he could ever give her. She deserved the very best.

And that was the one thing he was sure he'd never be.

 

 

 


End file.
